Krebs
by AvissAbyss
Summary: Sequel to Spaßmacher. Karkat's point-of-view. Possible triggers: Self-harm (cutting), psychological dilemmas; probably more to come in the future.
1. All diese freundliche Gesichter

**AN: So, this is the next ****_thrilling _****installment to my own little universe of OhGodWhy. Fabulous, isn't it? Expect a lot of psychological jazz because that is the jazz that I'm so all about. Anyway, here you are. Thank you, all of you beautiful people, for reading and reviewing and favoriting and following. That made me incredibly happy. And thanks most of all to my best friend for letting me use her computer and helping me steal wifi. I love you, doll.**

**Enjoy, lovelies~**

**(by the way, Krebs means Cancer in German, and also has a double meaning as Crab)**

* * *

It's so different without him. School is basically torture. It's my senior year and I can't even enjoy it. Yeah, I have other friends, but they're not him. He was my best friend, after all. We more or less did everything together. 'Til he got with Tavros, anyway. Then I came second. But still. It was the most fun I'd had in my entire life. He made me smile, and that in and of itself was one of his self-proclaimed miracles. I even liked his stupid rapping doodoobutter. It was horrifying, yes, but he made it so charming. And he was charming. Charming enough to get into _my_ pants. And no one gets into my pants. Like how no one puts baby in a corner. That shit doesn't happen. I'm still not sure what to think of that. I try not to. It was a mistake on his part. I've come to deal with that. It doesn't really hurt. I just miss him.

Oh, God. Quit being such a pussy. Fuck, what is wrong with me these days? No wonder no one wants to be around me. I guess I'll justify my "_crabbiness_"on it still being a fresh wound. It's only been three months since the incident. Since he . . .

No. _NO_. I'm not doing this. This is my last year here. I will not let Romeo and Juliet-esque romance hit the whirling device and get my panties in a knot. Focus on something else, Karkat. Like this calculus shit. How does this even work? He knew it so well- stop. Now. Focus on the math. Or keep drawing boobs with those pepperonis that make you want to cry and laugh at the same time. Or whatever.

"Karkitty, what's that?"

I start a little and hug my notebook to my chest, staring at Nepeta with narrowed eyes. She looks over at me curiously, concerned. Everyone does that now. They look at me like I'm about to break into small pieces and blow away into the wind. But why? Why do they think I'll just roll over and die? I can't stand it. I can't stand that they think I only existed for him. It makes me rage. Like, what? Really? Was I nothing without him? Am I nothing now? Was I really only all for him? . . . How much did I ignore everyone else . . . ?

"It's anatomy practice," I finally manage to grumble out. I really don't want anyone to think I'm this broken mess of a man. I don't even know if I am or not. I don't know if I'm okay. I don't know if I'll grab a rope and use it as a bungee cord around my neck and tempt fate to see if I'll choke myself to death, drown in the river I'm sure to be jumping over, or miraculously survive the escapade and throw up my fist in victory while "Don't You Forget About Me" plays in the background. Only, it won't be a victory. And I'll be sure to try again. If I try the first time, that is. I just want everyone to stop looking at me like that.

I flip to my actual assignment in my notebook and throw it back on my desk with a soft thud. He had calculus last year. He could've helped me . . .

Alright. Enough. Talk to the kitty.

She smiles as I sigh and turn to her. She always smiles at me. Smiles or looks like she wants to save me. But I don't know if I need saving or not. I don't really know much of anything. Useless as always, Karkat. You dumbfuck sack-sucker. But enough of that. "So, what's up?" That's it. We're business casual up in this bitch.

She looks down and bats her eyes a little, sneakily covering her notebook with her hand and strumming her long, sharp nails that might as well be called claws along the spiraled binding. "Just doodling, like you," she says softly, looking back up at me with forest-green eyes lined on the top lid to create small, black, sharp wings on the ends of them. "We don't need to pass this class to graduate, right?" Another bat of her long, thick, black eyelashes. It would be charming, sexy even, if I hadn't already made up my mind on the matter and wasn't too busy trying to decide whether or not I'm going to be fine this year. I'm sure everything will be great. Yup.

I close my eyes and rest my head on one of my hands, elbow clopping on the desk loudly. I'm still amazed I haven't been sent to the principal for being an annoying asswheel. I look back at her in exasperation and say, "It still won't look good if you fail without even trying."

She sighs dramatically and poofs out her cheeks, narrowing her eyes into tiny slits like I'm the enemy in this playful game of coy and uninterested. "Well that's bananas. I think I need a tutor . . ."

She fiddles with her pencil a little and continues tapping her claws on the wood of the desk. Honestly, she's the only person in this class that I can actually stand. Maybe even like. Perhaps even consider a good friend. She's nice and sweet and perky and cute as a button. But I refuse to tell her any of that. Especially as I see her writing "Nepeta Vantas" on the last page of her notebook. Yeah, if only, kid.

I know she likes me. I know she has for years. But I don't know why. I'm not even good enough to be worm feces. But it is what it is, I guess. I have certainly given her no indication that I want to be with her in any romantic aspects. And I'm assuming she has no idea what happened with me and Ga—him. Even if she did, though, I doubt that would stop her from imagining that we are the only survivors of an apocalypse and we _have_ to mate in order to thrive on this planet of bubble gum and rainbows that she's created. I wouldn't mind being with her in the generality of the thing, but she's more like a sister or a pet in my eyes, and I'm neither into incest nor bestiality. And even if I was that kind of sick, demented snatchbag, I still wouldn't give her the D. She's just too cute and innocent-looking to defile like that.

But she'll keep my mind off of other things if I hang around her. "Here, I'll help you," I say, pulling her desk to mine across the polished floor with a screech.

"O-oh, you don't have to do that!"

But I know that's exactly what she was gunning for, the little manipulator.

Her facecheeks dust with pink and she looks up at me with such an admiring expression. It's almost disgusting how cute she is. I let out a hearty huff and show her my notes, muttering, "Yeah, I kinda do."

I don't want to lead her on, and I feel like a super douchenozzle because maybe I kinda am, but she's the closest thing I have to a friend now. Here, anyway. I'm in desperate need of friendly company.

I used to have such a big group of friends. And even though I never really let them know, I cared about them deeply. And I even had the biggest dipshit crush on Terezi. Stupidly, I still kind of do. And I don't know why. Ugh. But she changed a lot last year and barely speaks to me anymore. I was close with Kanaya for a while, but let her slip away to a girl named Rose Lalonde, Ms. Lalonde's daughter. Who, thank God, isn't a thing like her mother. Although, Ms. Lalonde stopped drinking and went to rehab over the summer. She's still mildly inappropriate, but she's much better. Rose is infuriatingly smart and always so proper, even when she's being a snarky, sarcastic tart. I guess that's why Kanaya likes her so much. They're cute and all, but Kanaya was my friend first. And it bugs me a little that she abandoned me. But I guess it's my fault. Sollux was fun to be around for a while, and I considered him second-in-command on my friend-ship, but he got accepted into a high-up college on a full scholarship and Aradia moved with him to finish high school and start her own career. Because love is powerful and some other bullcrap thing I desperately wish I had with someone. Feferi went to a private school because her parents realized what a crapshack the public school system is. Eridan got arrested a few times on drug charges, but he's out now. He dropped out and just sorta roams the streets, looking to sell clear, powdered Jell-O as crack. He's going to get murdered, I swear. I sorta admired him, in that I've never known anyone to be more narcissistic or egotistical and not care if it bothered people. He was an asshole in such a strange way. The only one I still talk to _is_ Nepeta. And even then, our time together is limited due to Equius and his creepy-ass self. He doesn't say much, but what he does say . . . I don't know how they're best friends. He's pretty freakish. I'm glad he keeps her in line and takes care of her, but he himself is just so . . . Wrong. His horse fetish is a definite red flag. So I avoid him if I can. Vriska is by herself now, much to my pleasure. She walks around looking all sad and lonely, and it takes my all not to pour salt into that wound. He'd still be here if it wasn't for her bitch ass. Conniving, evil witch. All she needs is a long, warty nose and green skin. And a personality.

And then there's Tavros. Poor, poor Tavros. He sits and stares blankly all day. He doesn't talk to anyone. He does his work, and then he just stares. I laugh a little when Vriska walks up to him and tries to bully him or even just talk to him. He does nothing. Sometimes, he'll close his eyes and sigh, but he doesn't give her any satisfaction. She'll call him a name, punch him, and walk away. This happens often. School's only been in session for a few weeks, but the routines are horribly repetitive already. I can probably make a guess at how the rest of the year will go and be right on all accounts. How dull. Not that I'm in need of any excitement. I'd rather be bored and lifeless than have something out of the daily motions occur. I probably won't be able to handle that. But I never did tell Tavros what his boyfriend and I did. And I won't. I can't. It would destroy him. Just like it destroyed Ga—no. No, I'm not going there. Not again, not right now, and hopefully never in the rest of my life.

Nepeta finds me in the parking lot as I reach my car, another daily occurrence, and gives me a tight hug. It happens all the time, but I never seem to be prepared or it. I unconsciously go rigid, uncomfortable with the whole thing, but bring myself to hug her back.

"I know it hurts," she says quietly, warmly on the side of my face. "But it'll get better. I promise. Everything with Gam-"

"Okay," I interrupt. "I know you're only trying to help, but . . . I have to go home. Bye, Nepeta."

She loosens her arms around my neck and tries to look into my eyes, but I refuse to let her. I feel hot in my face and cold in my hands, and my heart wants to explode and get my death over with. But I am otherwise dead to the world.

"Karkitty . . . I'm here fur you. Right meow and until the end. Don't be a-fur-aid to come to me fur help. I'll always be here."

And that really makes me want to cry. But I don't. I'm a man, dammit. Boys don't cry. I nod and wave her away and she gives me one last squeeze before trotting off to Equius, allowing him to pick her up and help her into his truck. It almost makes me smile.

I reach down to open my car door, but a hand is on mine and I look up and feel my heart throb more in exhaustion and pain. Why now?

"Karkat," Terezi says, taking off her red, cartoonish shades to look me dead in the eye with her bright turquoise windows to the soul. She only shows her eyes when she's deadly serious. And I haven't talked to her in months. Acid rises in my throat as she turns my face towards hers, mine unconsciously turning back against her. I don't want to do this. I don't want to talk to her. "We need to discuss something."

I swallow my emotions and nod curtly. "What it is, Terezi?"

"Gamzee." Ow. Fuck. His name hurts to hear. "He wasn't a good guy. I know you think he was the best thing ever since canned bread, but he was a real piece of work. He wasn't good for you. And I saw your pain after he'd led you on and then dated Tavros. Don't think I didn't see. You hurt so bad. Five months, I had to watch you on the verge of tears. He was pain. Unnecessary pain. You didn't deserve that. I know I haven't been the best friend ever or even a good one recently, but I still care about you, Karkat. Believe me. You're better off. Don't let him continue to hurt you when he isn't even here. I mean, look at Tavros. He won't talk to anyone! He's pretty much catatonic these days!"

Ow. God. Goddammit, this hurts. I never thought she would cut me so bad. I sigh and look up at her with a smile. Her expression of concern turns to one of wonder at my look and I place a hand on her shoulder and give it a small squeeze. "Terezi," I say softly, looking at her with the sweetest face I can muster. "I appreciate this. I'm glad you care. Thank you. But I can't fucking do this right now. This is the last thing on my list of shit I could ever imagine me being able to do right now. I will fucking kill myself right now if you try to drag this on. Consider my feelings this round and decide if telling me that my best friend was a piece of shit is a grand idea. Tell me in what world this would help, and maybe then I'll think about not wanting to off myself in an amazing spectacle of theatrics in which I blow myself up by stuffing my asshole with fireworks and have my mushy body parts fed to orphans around the world and let everyone know that you were the wonderful person to make it all possible."

She stares at me with wide eyes for a good, long while and blinks away my words with a shake of her head. "Karkat, I didn't mean t-"

"No, it's okay. You didn't know. How could you? You don't talk to me anymore. You don't know who I am right now. Or who I will be tomorrow. Talk to me about anything else. But leave him out of this."

I tiptoe up and kiss her cheek before getting into my car and giving a small wave of goodbye. She sighs and puts her shades back on, waving a little herself before walking away. I do miss her. A lot. But I'm in no mood for her to throw the wicked hate upon someone that can't even defend himself against it. I hope I didn't ruin my chances of talking to her again. And I hope she won't pull that with me, either.

"Holy fuck!"

I slam down on the brakes as fast as I can, hitting my head on the dash with a black-out force. With a groan, I lift my head and try to sift through the fog of pain and adrenaline to see who was stupid enough to jump in front of my car.

"T-Tavros?"

Oh, fuck. Was this a suicide attempt? He just stares at me with a face that reads, "Oh, shit. Did I really just do that?" Maybe he didn't know what he was doing? Christ.

I step out of my car slowly, still trying to shake off the blur that covers my eyes. He doesn't move. Not even when I walk up to him and put an arm on his shoulder. Not even when I shake him. His irises reluctantly pull themselves over to look at me, but his body remains frozen. "Tavros?" I ask, pushing on him a little. "Dude, you're freaking me right the fuck out. What's up? Why did you go the full retard and move in front of a moving vehicle? Do you wanna die?"

A nod. So small, it's a wonder I saw it. But he nodded. Another nod and he closes his eyes tightly and covers his face with his hands, shoulders heaving from rickety sobs. He falls to his knees hard and I'd be amazed if he didn't at least scrape them. And he cries. He cries so much. And I feel awkward and wrong and guilty. I feel so fucking guilty. It's my fault. It's my fault he's so fucked up and broken. But this is the most I've seen him act human in a long time. And I sit down beside him and rub his back. He's lost weight. We weren't that close, but he was still my friend. Much as I despised his cheery disposition. But it was better than this doll syndrome shit he was pulling. I pull him toward me and let him sob onto my shoulder. After a while, I get his mom's number out of him and call her. She freaks out hard at what had happened, but she gets here in no time and thanks me for being so kind to her son. She looked exhausted. Probably up all night with Tavros, telling him things will be fine. But I doubt that it would.

I'm fucking tired. I don't sleep very much at all anymore. I moved out of my dad's house a couple of months ago. It was too stressful and I got tired of feeling bad for him. I needed to start thinking about myself. So I found a nice, reasonably-priced place and set up residence. I had a job for a while, but my roommate made me quit because I wasn't sleeping and was falling behind in school. Not that the former's changed. I still only get one to two hours of sleep per day. I'm so tired all the time. But I have so many things running in my head and I can't seem to stop the pour of unwanted thoughts no matter how much I attempt to plug up that hole in my brain. It's impossible. And I want to die sometimes because of the extreme insomnia. I just think, "Oh, God, make it stop," until my eyes finally close with a terrible burn and I black out. I don't think what I do is called sleeping. I think I just pass out for a while. The bags and dark circles that have always been under my eyes have only gotten worse. I can't stand it. They're so ugly. And people only know me as The Tired Short Dude with Anger Issues.

Which pisses me off. A lot.

I finally arrive home after a long journey through my own mind and keeping a determination strong enough to keep my eyes opened. I have all the willpower. All of it.

His car isn't here, which blows my fucking mind. He doesn't have a real job and doesn't really know anyone around here, so why he's never home is just beyond me. Sometimes I think that the only reason I keep him around is because he's good money and he cleans all the time. But then I feel like an asshole for thinking that because he's really not all that bad but it drives me batshit that he's never around. Like everyone's just going out of their way to avoid me. And that hurts. No one thinks it does because they don't think I have feelings. But I fucking do. And I'm getting really tired of sympathetic looks and an air of GTFO. It's so tedious.

I think too much. Always thinking and over-thinking. I'm tired of thinking. I'm tired of trying to solve everyone's and my own problems. I'm tired of being tired. Are you there, God? It's me, Karkat. Please let me stop thinking for a day. Or at least an hour. I'm so worn out. Let me find the serenity shit that makes me stop finding problems in things that don't have problems. And let me be happy when things are going well instead of making myself miserable.

Let me be able to be okay with myself and all the things around me.

And give the Easter Bunny a high-five for me. Thanks.

I throw myself onto my bed and try so hard to turn my brain off so I can get some rest. I need to more than my generation needs to learn how to shut the fuck up and pick up a book. And it takes so long for sleep to find me.

And fuck if it didn't last longer than an hour. Jesus Christ.

"Good afternoon. At the tone, pacific daylight time will be four-twenty exactly."

Oh, God. No. Stop it.

A belch.

Oh, fuck no. Dude, please.

"Ya know-"

SHUT UP DON'T YOU DARE.

"I got two states of mind-"

MOTHERFUCK ME!

"Stoned and asleep. First I hit the sweet leaf and then I have nice dreams. When I get up, I wake and bake, take a piss and shake. My clock stopped at four-twenty, whatchu want me to say? I stay blazed all day, no matter where I'm creepin'. Hot boxin' on your block and at the spot on the weekends. You'll see smoke risin', just who could it be? It's my rhyme and crime partner: Dee-dash-ell-oh-kaykay!"

I mentally smack myself and let out a long groan. How dare I get some sleep. How dare I think I fucking could? God. Dammit. I shut my eyes tighter and put my pillow over my head and mumble, "Is it really only four-twenty in the afternoon?"

He chuckles and pats the pillow roughly. Annoying asshole. "C'mon, Karkles!" he yells near my face. "You know the words! You've heard it enough."

"Can't you just answer me like a normal, non-shitty person?"

"Nope. Say a line and then I'll fulfill all your needs on the matter of time. And perhaps even space, if you're lucky."

"Fucking answer me, you fuckass!"

"Say a line."

"No."

"Then the time is my little secret."

I rise up quickly, pissed as hell, and pop him right under his chin as hard as I can. "Fucking be mature, you asspie," I yell out, and pick my phone up off the end table to check the time as he laughs and holds his jaw. "Are you kidding me? I was asleep for less than ten minutes!"

He hops onto my bed and pats my back and chuckles some more. "Ain't no time to be sleeping, Karkat. Wait until eight or something."

I want to cry out of exasperation, but I settle for groaning and slamming my fist into the mattress over and over again. "I _just_ fell asleep, Pat Benatard."

"There'll be plenty of hours to sleep. But we got stuff to do today." He reaches over my head and turns the stereo up more, blasting the fucking thing into my face.

"You're a serious piece of shit, Gamzee."

He squeezes my arm and jumps up to open the curtains, opening what is probably his tenth bottle of Faygo today.

"Turn that thing off!"

"Hey, I don't smoke anymore," he says in mock-defense, taking a swig from his bottle of "wicked elixir." "The least you could do is let me enjoy such fond memories."

"I'd rather you smoke than drink so much of that sugary shit," I reply, sitting up and swinging my feet over the bed.

_HONK!_

"Fuck!" I smack his arm as he laughs and sits next to me. "Enough with the horns all over the house! Smoke weed again, please! For the love of the Giant Flying Spaghetti Monster!"

"Aw, Karkles. Don't go gettin' all sobstory on a motherfucker on such a nice day. You know I can't be all up and toking again. You know what happened the last time."

I sigh and rest my head on his pointy shoulder. He's gained a bit of weight, but he's still scrawny by man standards. "Yeah, but that was the pills' fault."

"Maybe, but still. I'm . . . Scared. Fuckin' terrified to do anything again. You know that. I can't even go back to school and let people know that I'm motherfuckin' alive."

"Speaking of." I turn to face him and realize he's wearing his creepy clown makeup. Must have had a gig somewhere. Shaking my head, I say, "Tavros tried to kill himself today. On my car. Lucky I stopped, or he'd be fucking toast. He needs to know you're okay. You know where he lives. And I know what was in your pocket that day. I know you loved him more than anything. And still do. Give him _something_. He deserves to know."

He looks down and cringes, hoisting his shoulders up to his cheeks. "I can't," he replies quietly. "I can't go back. Vriska's still there-"

"So go to his house, dumbbutt!"

"Shit's embarrassing, Karkat!"

I jump at his tone. So loud and angry. He gets angry a lot more now. And so much more easily. The weed masked his issues, but they're still there. Clear as day.

"How am I supposed to face him? I tried to kill myself. I fucked you! I can't tell him that. I could never break his heart like that."

Looking into his indigo eyes, all I see is pain and regret and sadness. And it kills me. I want so badly to save him. Let me save you, Gamzee . . .

"Gamzee," I begin, putting my head back on his shoulder, rubbing his arm to try to calm and comfort him. "I know. I know all of that. But he will die if you don't let him know that you're alive and well."

"Well is relative. And so is alive."

I sigh against his neck and mumble words of advice that I know he probably can't hear. Why does life have to be such a bitch?

"I won't go anywhere with you until you see him."

And he cries. I hear him every night. He cries about Tavros until he falls asleep. And then I make sure to keep quiet through it all. When he screams, I can say nothing. It's my fault, too. I could've said no.

All I see around me are ugly things. Make my life beautiful again. Like it used to be for such a short time. Make us happy.

I want to see him smile without pain in his eyes.

I love him . . .


	2. Wir nur uns selbst angreifen

**AN: Hey! Sorry, I had no way to write or upload this, but now I have a computer and internet connection of my own! . . . But life's been rough this past few weeks and I kinda lack motivation. So, if I don't update soon, I'm terribly sorry. If you like it, feedback would be the bee's knees! If you didn't . . . Just be polite with the criticism. Don't just say it sucks. Tell me why. _I NEED TO KNOW._**

**. . . .**

**Anyway, I love you all so much! Thanks for being so sweet to me. :D**

* * *

"I really don't want to motherfucking do this . . ."

I sigh and press my head to his chest harder, his arms around my shoulders tightening some. I never pegged him for a coward. Maybe he was too high to feel fear. Now he's who he always was under that mask of smoke and pills. And . . . Sometimes I wonder if I like that. I wonder if I like the real him. And I feel horrible. Fuck, of course I like the real Gamzee Makara! I wouldn't have stuck around him this long if I didn't . . . Right?

"Take it off, Gamzee," I reply, slightly frustrated. This conversation – mild argument – had been going on for at least an hour. I'm starting to get rather angsty. My mood is in the fiery depths of Asscrack Junction and I'm ready to bust some caps and make this little whore eat dirt while begging for my sopping wet lovestick to pop him one in the teeth. Augh.

"But-"

"Lord Jeebus in the clouds! Take off the makeup! All shit will be up for grabs in the air because it has been flipped from every viable spot on this planet if you make me take it off for you!"

He pauses every action he could make for a second and then chuckles a tiny bit, the noise raspy and rough against my ear. With a curt nod, he bumps his forehead to mine and drags himself to the bathroom to wash up, every move slow and sluggish, like his limbs weigh a ton and his motivation weighs nothing on his mind. He does that a lot. He moves like he's made of stone, unwilling and unable to leave a certain spot. Like once he's there, that's it. It hurts too much to pull himself up again.

And that really hurts me, too. I feel the same way a lot. Especially at school, when I'm alone, and I lack any drive to even think. He must be tired, too. I know he doesn't sleep well, if he even sleeps at all. He cries so much during the night, and when I finally fall asleep, I always wake back up to him sobbing and trying so hard to shut himself up.

"Close your fucking mouth, you piece of shit! Karkat's trying to sleep! You know he needs rest! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

Sometimes there's silence. And that's when I'm the most terrified. I'm so scared he's killed himself. He says he doesn't want to die. But I know he's ashamed of his actions. All of his actions. Of me. I ruined this. Like how I ruin everything. I'm like King Mitus, only instead of gold, my touch turns everything to a pile of shit so sick of itself that all it can do is cry and pray someone will kill it because it's too much of a pussy to even get up from its fecal fetal position and stop its hysterics.

I turn everything into me.

"Hey."

I look up from the designs that don't really exist in the gray carpet of my bedroom and smile against my will. I hide it before he can see, but I know it's futile. He always sees. He makes sure he sees. I've thoroughly convinced myself that he can see me smile every time I do so, even when he's not even close to being around me. He's fucking magic.

He looks down into my eyes, my heart throbbing pathetically as I eat up all the attention he gives me like a teenaged girl on the internet. His face is free of paint, his eyes donning the black eyeliner he always wears when he leaves the house. I think he looks good either way, but he won't accept that he doesn't need it to look better. He's quite handsome.

Shit. Fuck. I mean. Goddammit.

Whatever!

I shake my wimpy hormonal thoughts out of my mind and he smiles down at me and it breaks my heart a little. It isn't real. It isn't one of his goofy grins he'd always flash me every time he saw me, one that means he's overjoyed despite his history, one that makes me feel happy inside even when I don't want to. It's sad. He's always in pain. Always so hurt. He hasn't been truly happy since the day he tried to . . . Kill himself. God, that's still hard to process. Gamzee tried to kill himself. It just doesn't make sense. Everyone thinks he's dead. I won't talk about it, I won't let them talk about it, I won't even let them say his name around me. I think it's because I'm so selfish. I don't want them having information about him because they're unworthy. They're too unworthy to utter a single shred of his existence. And that's _really_ fucked up that I think this way. Like, shit. He's not my property. Bad Karkat. You creepy sonofabitch. I've only let Terezi talk about him. Or say his name. She says it with such disgust. Spits it out like it tastes awful and it's a big chunk of vomit stuck between her teeth. It more or less pisses me right the fuck off. But what doesn't? I just want to know why. What reason does she have to hate him so? It can't all be on my behalf. It doesn't make sense. Maybe I'll ask him later.

You know, when he's not about to say hi to the guy he was gonna marry who he cheated on with me who now thinks he's dead. Maybe I'll wait until all that fun stuff is over. Yup.

"Take your car so he doesn't know I'm with you," I say meekly, pulling open the passenger side door to his grape of a Fusion. "Still don't know why I can't stay here."

He gets into his seat with a thud and slams his door closed like he's about to choke a bitch. He doesn't look at me when he mumbles, "Because I need you," as he starts the car. It's so soft and scratchy and weak, unlike his abuse to his poor door and seat.

He doesn't say anything else as he drives to Tavros's place. And I certainly don't press him on anything. Mostly because he's kind of scary now. He gets mad at the smallest things. But I've only heard him yell a few times. He doesn't like to yell; he says it hurts his throat and head too much. Honestly, it's scarier when he doesn't yell. When he talks all cool and relaxed while saying some of the most fucked up shit I've ever heard is when I want to get the fuck out of there and leave him to himself for the rest of his life. Someone accidentally stepped on the back of my heel at the mall one day and even apologized for it, and he grabbed the poor kid by his shirt and smiled so sweetly as he said, "Hey, motherfucker. If you even think about touching him one more time, I will take you into the bathroom, pull this here knife from my pocket, and cut your skin off so perfectly that it'll look like a little you suit that I'll send to your family with my name carved into it."

I shat a little at that, to tell you the truth. Okay, maybe not. More like a lot. But he's never said anything like that to me. No, never to me. He's gotten mad at me plenty of times, but he's yet to threaten or insult me. Which is nice, I guess. But still. I'm more scared of him than I should be, considering he's my best friend. And I know he knows that. He really does try to dial back his anger for me. But that's just it. He _tries _to. I know it tears him apart to know that I fear him, but I think that's what keeps him in check. That he doesn't want to make me run away. Kinda sweet, in a pretty twisted, sick-ass way.

I feel warmth on my cheek and pop out of my thoughtful stupor with a jump and a gasp. He laughs a little as I rub my face and grumble about his PDA. My embarrassment pleases him to no end. But he's all serious and sad again in no time as he steps out of his car to be the ghost of some poor kid's life.

"Roll the windows down a little," he says, closing the door. "I'll tell you everything when I get back. Even if it's bad."

I attempt to protest, but the look he gives me shoots me back down into a humble, quiet position.

"I'll be back."

I nod and slink down to hide myself in my seat. I don't want to be here. And I really don't want Tavros to know that I am. This is none of my business.

A soft knock, a little showy and bright despite how he's been feeling lately. A lie. Another lie to add to the ever-growing list of the things he hides behind. My stomach rolls over a few times when I hear a small gasp, knowing it to be Tav's mother, and I cringe a little at the painful nausea it brings, this horrifying roller coaster of deceit and agony.

"G-Gamzee?" she asks, voice shrill and straining. She wonders if she's dreaming, if she's hoping too badly for her son's sake. What a good mom, always worrying about her baby. I let time pause around me to wonder if all moms are this way. If mine was. I'm sure, since she died for me. Gamzee never knew his mom, either. Damn moms, going off all nobly and leaving off with asshole fathers.

Time starts again with my best friend clearing his throat politely and choking out, "Uh, yeah. Hey, Ma." I can practically hear the tears in his eyes. I hear Tink huff a little, there's some shuffling, a "Thank you" on Gamzee's part, and then the closing of a door. The silence is almost deafening and I have no idea what to do with myself. This could take hours.

Now I realize something is starting to form in the back of my mind, something black and nasty, and it leaves me with uneasy feelings and a bitter taste stuck to my throat. I try to get comfortable in my seat, pulling it all the way back and lying down, but regardless of the manner in which I'm seated, that awful feeling won't allow me any peace. What the fart-huffing hell? I roll it over and over and roll myself over and over and after what feels like a mind-numbing forever, I come to the conclusion that it's the beginning of a hatred. A hatred for Gamzee. The dark tentacles stick to me and try to pull me into their Stockholm embrace, but I refuse to let that happen. I could never hate him.

. . . And yet. I hate that he brought me here, out of my comfort zone, to deal with his problems that _he_ should've taken care of long ago. That selfish, cowardly brat. Not once has he even considered how I felt about all of this. I guess it's my fault since I let him push me around. I let everyone push me around it seems. Damn. When did I let myself get so low? I'm staring into Satan's asshole, I'm so far gone. Why do I let him – everyone – do this to me? Why am I never good enough to just be put into account in the great scheme of things? And why does everyone have to leave me? I'm half-hoping Tavros will tell him to fuck off and to find another bitch. But that's cruel. And he doesn't have the balls to do it, anyway. He's a lot like me, under-confident and full of hatred for himself. But I don't let it show. I try to be strong. Everyone knows he's a pussy.

I sigh and shake my head. No, that's mean, too. I need to stop being so bitter all the time. At least when I'm angry, I'm sort of cool. Maybe. No one's said otherwise. But now that I'm not all shouts and fuckasses, people seem to dismiss me. That was the reason why I started being loud to begin with. No one fucking cares about a midget with daddy issues. Well, Gamzee sort of does. When he's not being too absorbed in himself and petty bullshit. But he's also a giant with daddy issues, so maybe he's a terrible example. And a shitty friend. Wow, okay. Stop it, Karkat. You just need a nap or something.

Turning over one last time, I close my eyes and allow myself to drift off. It's fast and quick and the blackout is more than welcomed.

I'm shaking. All over. Wait, is that me? I'm not in the car anymore. It smells like autumn, wet soil and cold rain, and I can't feel my nose, but the rest of me is warm as can be. A rain drop hits my forehead and I reluctantly open one eye to find that the sun is only a tiny sliver of orange in the distance and that I'm covered with blankets and Gamzee has his arms full of me. I look up at him and find that he's biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, and I begin to ask what the fuck his deal is when I realize he's crying, and that that wasn't a rain drop that hit my face. It was one of his tears. His tremors differ in that one belongs to the shivers of cold and anxiety and the other set belongs to the matter of not letting out the noise of unmanly sobs that want to tell the world that he's just a big baby and can't handle adult problems like he should be able to at this point. I look up more still and feel my chest constrict when I notice we're under the willow that he always took Tavros under. Why, _bro_?Don't you know this hurts me, too?

I set aside my own emotional stack of shitcakes and reach my hand out to touch his face softly. He jumps a little but doesn't open his eyes. I smile a little and take him all in, so small and fragile and weak under my gentle touches. Like a child. He's so innocent and angry and confused and I want nothing more than to help him. And though another part of me furiously wants to rub whatever's his problem into his pointy, gaunt face, I force it down and just shush him until he stops crying and babbling little apologies from his chapped lips. Just . . . Let me save you.

"Better?" I ask, sitting up a little and wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He was gaining weight pretty steadily, started looking healthier and healthier, and although he's not as skinny as he was, he's still so sharp and bony and uncomfortable to be on sometimes because he lost a lot of the weight again.

He nods a little and hugs me tightly, like if he lets go, he'll die a horrible, painful death. And I guess I would have to go down with him, according to his muddled think pan.

I groan against the tightness of his grip and push on him a little until he eases up some, hiding his face behind long, black waves and the blanket over my shoulder. I pat his back in soft, loving thuds of his hollow frame and ask him if he wants to talk about it.

He shakes a little, but rises up and looks me in the eyes with his pupils almost nonexistent in the waves of purple crashing around in his irises. "He hates me, Karkles," he whispers quietly, looking away again, eyes flicking back and forth between thoughts and blades of dying grass swishing around in the wind. "I was so happy to see 'im again. Motherfucker is still all sorts of cute and perfect. And he was so fucking surprised and elated to see me, too! He hugged me real tight and then he started cryin' and then I started with the waterworks, then Momma starts her sobbin' and it goes on for a while. But he took me to his room so we could talk all private and the whatnot, and he asked me where I was and why I hadn't seen him sooner and told me how he was miserable and how he tried to make you run him over and then he asked if you knew about me and said that you'd be so happy to see me back but . . . Then I made him calm himself and told him everything. I let go of every Goddamned thing I been hidin' in my head. And I was a motherfucking fool to do that. I shoulda kept shut tight about some things. Hell, maybe it would've been better if I'd walked away."

He closes his eyes and I feel a small growl rumble in his throat before he continues. "I told him that I was too ashamed to come see him. He smiled and asked me why, because he fucked up, not me. But . . . I told him I fucked up worse. And he looked so scared. He looked so motherfucking scared, Karkat. I told him you knew of my whereabouts. You always knew. I came to you for help, not him. And I could feel his heart beating faster than light speed and I could feel little shakes of fear poppin' off him in every direction. And I said . . . I said that I fucked up more because . . . I fucked you."

I feel my eyes widen and mouth gape in disbelief. I knew he was torn up about that, but fuck! I didn't think he'd drop the ball that fast! I try to say something but he shakes his head curtly and says, "And then he started crying, wailing louder than my poor heart could take and I tried to calm him down and tell him it all was a mistake and it meant nothing, but he wouldn't stop crying. And then his mom came in and she told me she knew I wasn't there for a good reason and told me to just get out of there and to go rot somewhere because I broke a sweet boy's heart. So I nodded and agreed that I'm a huge motherfucking shithead and left my ring pamphlet thing on his dresser because I sure as hell don't need it anymore."

I have nothing to say to him. My mind is blank for once in my life. I was a mistake. I mean nothing. "I'm sorry, I-"

"No!" he yells, cutting me off and making me jump with anxiety. "It ain't your fault. _I _fucked up. It was all me. I took advantage of you. Fuck, you could get me on rape charges if you want! Send me to jail, motherfucker!"

Ow. Fuck. I don't mean to hit him, certainly not as hard as I do, but it's so automatic and instinctual and it sounds like lightning breaking a tree limb in half. My hand burns and I hold it to my mouth in surprise, but keep my eyes angry and stern. "Now you listen here," I start, voice commanding and full of bravado. "Shut up with this nonsense. There's no point in beating a dead horse. Get the fuck over it. Find something else to occupy your time. You know how sick I am of never being included in anything? I listen to and help you with your shitty problems every day, but you _never _ask me how _I _am or make me feel like someone cares. Get off your pedestal and figure out that the world doesn't revolve around you, you whiny, inconsiderate pile of rancid anal juices!"

And I don't mean for that to slip out. But I do mean every word of it. And I feel like a special kind of douchenozzle for yelling at him and saying what I did since he just got out of a rough spot, but . . . What's done is done.

He stares at me for a while, eyes wide and teeth slightly bared. He stares so long in his expression of confusion and wonder that I see my hand, red on his face, a perfect imprint of my perfect anger. I'm a little impressed with it, to be honest. I finally got something out of me. And it felt good. And bad. But mostly, I feel so much better, even if he feels worse.

"Karkat," he mumbles, finally, running his fingertips along the raised, red hand print. "I didn't know you felt that way. I'm motherfuckin' sorry, bro."

Not what I was expecting, but it certainly was nice to have that for the response.

"What was your day like?"

I snort a little and give his dumb ass a tight hug. With a shake of my head and a heavy heart, I retell the motions of the day, and basically every other day this year aside from the things with Tavros and Terezi. When I mention her name, he visibly stiffens and lets out an aggravated growl. His grip around me tightens some and I pull my arms out of his reach because his long nails dug into my skin, even through the blankets and layers of clothes.

"What the fuck is up with you two?" I breath out in frustration. "Why all the hatred?"

He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms in the most childish display of immaturity I've ever seen. "She's a stuck-up, judgmental know-it-all. And you've given her so many chances, bro. Why the fuck do you still want her used-up pussy? She's a fucking bitch and all she'll do is hurt you some more."

I want to say, "So do you and I still let you in my life!" but I keep it to myself. I do, however, glare at him and growl out, "Hey, how about you shut the fuck up and keep your shit opinions to yourself? You're a fucking bitch, too, Gamzee."

The silence around us is heavy and awkward and he avoids my gaze and I look away from him, too disgusted and fed-up with his adolescent bullshit. It drags on for a while, both of us too prideful and angry to admit we were dicks, but he's the first to make a move and he pats my head some and kisses my cheek. I don't know how to feel. I hate him so much. But I love him, too. Augh, just make it stop! Fucking dick, being all nice and shit. God. I narrow my eyes at him and he smiles. And it's the one I remember and I feel my heart stop at the sheer beauty of its sentimentality and want to smack myself for being such a little princess about everything.

"Fine," I mumble and hide my face in his collar bone.

"Good. Then let me take you somewhere now. You promised."

The bar he takes me to is small and dank and reeks of cigarettes and dope and shame. But he refuses to leave my side and twice refuses to let me leave by myself. He wants me to listen to his friends' band play, and what I hear from them isn't too bad, but I'm so tired that I fall asleep again and not even the loud music or loud people can pull me away from this severely-needed coma.

"Oh my God, Karen. You can't just ask people why they're white."

I laugh a little even though I've seen this movie a billion times and wake up happily on the couch in our warm house with Gamzee laying down behind me, arms the most secure of belts.

"Is this on Blu-ray?" I ask, stretching a little and giving a small sigh of pleasure that the day is ending nicely. "Because if it is, we seriously need to upgrade."

He chuckles a little and the warm sensation that tingles throughout my body at the feeling makes me question just what sort of guy I am. With a shrug, he sits up and takes me with him on the other cushion and says, "I dunno. But hey, your phone's been vibrating almost nonstop since you passed out at the bar."

"Huh?" No one talks to me. I only talk to Gamzee. I furrow my brows and reach over to the end table on the side of the couch and groan loudly with immense frustration because I can't just have a nice fucking day, apparently. God, what does this twat-for-brains want? Ugh, and he uses smiley faces way too much. "Fuuuuuck . . ."

"Who's John?"


	3. Farbe verblassen

**AN: Hey! This happened a lot faster than I expected it to. And wow, I got some very nice reviews and messages. That made me feel really good. Thank you all so much for being so kind and bearing with me and my tumultuous relationship with my technology. And other private dookie. Anyway, I love you all with the white-hot passion of a thousand suns. Stay gold. And sorry this chapter is balls. OTL**

* * *

That's it. Now I _know_ I can't have nice things. It's just so impossible. Can't even watch Mean Girls and go to sleep, for God's sake. With a rough sigh, I roll my shoulders and prepare myself for one hell of an annoying conversation.

"He's my lab partner," I mutter, typing a very long, very vulgar message in reply to his fifty short ones. Yeah, I'm not letting this kid go without an eyeful of allcaps, angry, beautiful text. Make that anal dwelling butt monkey rue the day he got partnered up with Karkle—Karkat. Jesus. "He's also a huge pain in the ass. He thinks that since we're also 'seat buddies' in two other classes, we're automatically best friends. I don't even know how he got my number. And I really don't know why he texts me; I _always_ bitch him out. He must like pain or something. Little fucking weirdo."

I hear a soft chuckle to my right and Gamzee lays his head down on my shoulder, miraculous tangle of hair all over the place, no respect for boundaries of any sort. "Man, your writing's so angry-lookin'," he says softly, voice vibrating my entire right side. I shiver a little bit at the sensation, but bite the inside of my cheek as an act of rebellion against my dipshit feminine euphoria. "Throw in a smiley face to soften that shit up a bit."

"I am angry, and I will not smiley to him. He's such a tater twat."

"Then why're you all up and talking to him? You don't normally continue to talk to people you can't stand after round one goes to the metaphorical dogs."

"'Cause."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Oh, man. Don't call him the cum stain in Judas's pants that he got from kissing Jesus."

"Too late."

"I'm takin' your phone away, motherfucker. If you can't be responsible-"

"Hey! Fuck you! Give it back!"

"Nope. Lemme just tell him it's a joke and you can have it back."

"Goddammit, Gamzee!"

I reach over him to get my phone back, but he holds it over his head like his great crown of shit and laughs hysterically because I can't even touch his wrists with my nubby little arms. He swings the object this way and that in a fit of insanity, _just to piss me off_, and with a satisfied smirk, he relinquishes the phone back to its proper master.

"There," he says, getting up off the couch and removing his shirt. "Now we can fuck in peace."

I glare at him murderously and he giggles some more and goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and get ready for bed. Sometimes, I think he does these things to be an asshole on purpose. He surely knows about my girlish "crush" on him. It's pretty fucking obvious. I can't stand how he takes me for granted. But . . . I can't leave him, either. I just can't.

I feel a buzz from my phone and feel my stomach turn over because God knows what that buck-toothed buttdumpling is replying to. I swear, I'm gonna end up bringing a gun to school and killing everyone because of Gamzee. It's like some sort of prophecy written out ages ago, when the earth was still young and dumb and full of cu-

Oh, really? _REALLY?_ "I hate you!" I yell over my shoulder and he laughs so hard that I'm sure he'd piss his pants if he hadn't just gone.

I feel my face heat up with anger and embarrassment and read over the texts Gamzee sent. "LOL SORRY. I WASN'T SERIOUS ABOUT ANY OF THAT MEAN SHIT I JUST SAID. YOU'RE ACTUALLY TOTALLY COOL. I THINK WE SHOULD HANG OUT SOME TIME. YOU KNOW, JUST US. I'D REALLY LIKE THAT. WELL, THINK IT OVER. WE MAKE GREAT PARTNERS. :o)"

It was bad enough that he reads over my shoulder all the time. Now he writes for me, too. Surely John can't be so stupid as to believe that. I've never said "lol" nor have I smiley'd at him. Especially not the clown nose thing. Still not sure what the deal is with that.

"Oh really? Hahaha somehow I dont believe you on that just being a joke thing but I agree we are quite the team. You all shouty and mean and me all personable and fun. Yeah people sure have their hands full hehe. Um and im not really sure if the hanging out thing is a joke either but im down for that if you really wanna."

I hate you, I hate you, I _hate _you. Gamzee's replies are atrocious to say the least. How did they even converse so fast?

"I'M SERIOUS. I WAS JOSHING. I'M REALLY NOT AN ASSHAT ALL THE TIME. I'M PRETTY FRAGILE AND DELICATE, YOU KNOW. BEEN HURT SO MUCH THAT I TRY TO CLOSE MYSELF OFF AND ALL THAT. SO IT'S NOT YOU. HOW ABOUT WE STUDY AT YOUR PLACE OR SOMETHING? YOU DID TEXT ME TO SAY YOU NEEDED HELP WITH A COUPLE OF CLASSES."

"Wow so im not being punked? Awesome sure okay that sounds good how about tomorrow? We could catch up on so much work oh and im sorry people have hurt you thats never good. :("

"NO, YOU'RE NOT. AND ALRIGHT. I'LL SEE YOU THEN. THANKS FOR BEING SO CONSIDERATE. I NORMALLY DON'T TELL PEOPLE STUFF LIKE THAT. IT'S KIND OF EMBARRASSING."

"No I understand. Life sucks sometimes. Itll get better. See ya tomorrow buddy! And your secrets safe with me. Good night karkat."

"GOOD NIGHT, JOHN."

. . . Yup. So. I'm gonna kill myself now. Bye.

Or not. Gamzee comes over and wraps his arms around me and laughs quietly as I squirm and mumble offenses to get out if his grasp. "So ya'll up and ready for your big date tomorrow?" he asks, tone humorous and pleasing to the ear, but even that isn't enough for me to stop wanting to bite his face off.

"It's not a date and of course I'm not!" I yell back, ceasing my wiggling because who am I kidding? He's got a good foot on me and arms like chains made of diamond.

"Whatever you say, Karkles. I was just givin' it to him like it is. Night, babe."

With a soft kiss to my cheek and a pat to my shoulder, he salutes and goes down the hall to his bedroom and leaves me with the mess he's made. I'm so peeved. But I guess it could be worse. I'm too tired when my anger settles to even give a damn, anyway. Maybe it won't be so bad, not being around this big sack of Bigfoot excrement for once . . .

I do hate John Egbert. A whole lot. He's always nice and friendly and he has a dad who loves him and nice things and everyone likes him and I can't fucking stand it! Why does he get to be happy? He's such a tool. And said tool is happy to see me and even waves to me in the hall like a rainbow-shitting, glitter-eating chump. I just narrow my eyes and he simply giggles at my reaction and that pisses me off more. Who can even hold all that happy inside them? Who even has a reason to? It's annoying and just so fucking tedious. And tedium is the worst pain.

He happily chats away in our classes together: Chemistry Two, World History, and Home Economics. No matter what happens or if the teachers tell him to can it, he cannot stop talking about how excited he is for today. I just say "yeah" to everything and carry on with my work. He ruined a perfectly good brownie because he wouldn't shut up and pay attention. Who even does that? Brownies are simple! Ugh!

"You just cut my grade in half. Thanks so much, Egbert."

"Oh, uh. Sorry, Karkat. I'm just rea-"

"Really excited, I know. _I know._ Just . . . Hurry up and get what you need and meet me in the parking lot."

And he smiles so genuinely that I want to barf. He normally is so energetic and happy to be alive, but I swear his baby blue eyes are gonna pop out of his head and spray confetti everywhere. It's sickening. I just watch him bounce away, black hair falling this way and that with every springy step he takes, and then I notice that I'm staring too much and am noticing too much and I mentally smack myself and turn to leave, but small arms are around me and I gasp in surprise as I'm pulled into a tight hug.

"Jesus, Nepeta," I breathe out, placing my hands on her shoulders. "Give me a warning or something first."

"Sorry," she giggles out, rubbing her cheek on my arm before standing back to look up at me. "But you seem abnormally decent today. Furigured I probably need to take advantage of that while I can."

I sigh and get my bag and she talks about how her cat just had kittens and that they're all so "purrecious" as we walk to the lot together. She's another sickeningly cute person.

. . . Wait. Oh, God. Subconscious, stop!

"How many kittens?"

"She had twelve!"

"Holy shit, that's a ton of babies."

"Don't say things like that."

I look up to see Equius walking toward us, hulking arms at his sides, the perfect picture of masculinity. He always strides on everywhere like a gorilla, territorial and always looking to prove his strength. He's very proud of his muscles. It's obvious, since he's wearing a tank top and shorts in the middle of fall. And they are impressive. Too bad he's a weird asshole.

"Equius!" Nepeta squeals and bounds to him, arms wide as she pounces. He catches her securely and effortlessly and she giggles and climbs on his shoulders and purrs with delight. I'm surrounded by weirdos.

I cross my arms and raise my eyebrows. "And why shouldn't I talk like that?" I ask, in the mood for putting the ass in sass.

I barely make out his eyes behind his dark, broken, square sunglasses, but see they've narrowed and he bares his broken teeth a little before saying, in his refined and quiet-_dignified_-manner, "Because your words are filthy, Mr. Vantas. But I suppose it's not your fault, being of low class and having no lessons in teaching you the proper ways to behave. However, I do not want your _lewd_ mannerisms being passed on to my beloved Nepeta. She is too good for you and your loud, vile language."

"Oh, dammit, Equius-"

"Upupup, what did I just say? Shut your mouth if you cannot be a lady."

The tiny girl mutters safe for work curses and crosses her arms on his head. "Fine. I'm a lady."

I'm about to let this chump have it when a familiar chuckle fills my ears and my heart stops in its tracks. The usual reaction. But I wasn't at all expecting him to be here any time soon.

"Aw, don't be such a stick in the ass, big guy," Gamzee says lightly, placing a hand on one broad shoulder. He's taller than Equius, but less than half his width. I narrow my eyes a little, trying to figure out what his intentions are. He's the biggest pain to try to read. Maybe that's why I stay with him. I like the pain.

Equius visibly tenses at the touch and drops of perspiration begin to fall from his forehead. He turns his face slowly and I notice his hands shaking when he sees that Gamzee really is behind him. Nepeta gasps, stares at the assumed dead person, then at me, then back at him. Maybe I should feign surprise, act like I never knew about his being alive. It would be easier, I suppose, to pretend like I wasn't lying to everyone and that I actually had a reason to be such a closed-off douche after the suicide attempt, but I rethink it because that wouldn't be right. I would just be lying more. I let out a sigh and whisper a greeting to my friend and he grins and puts his other hand on Equius's arm.

"Hey, hey, fellas. And gal. Now, big 'un, I am all for standing up for your beliefs and stickin' to your guns, but it means little to nothin' if you seek out people to berate and force your opinions on. It's another to give out the information if you're asked or prodded into it. I'd be very grateful if you'd motherfucking leave my bro be. Now I'm tellin' ya . . . Step the fuck off."

The body-builder looks as if he just came all over himself and nods silently, whispering, "Thank you, sir. Oh, thank you."

"Equius!" Nepeta yells, clawing at his head like a psycho. I can't help but laugh a little. She's just . . . So fun. "Turn around, turn around! I wanna talk to him; he's not dead! Fuck!"

He doesn't even tell her to shut up with her bad etiquette or silence her dirty words. He simply keeps walking and smiling to himself and shaking and sweating. It's disturbing, really, and I have to wonder just what Gamzee did to him to make him so subservient. He only bitches about my little cadaver when he swears because he believes someone from "such noble blood" shouldn't use the language of the lowly creatures unfit to be called sentient lifeforms. As in, me. And anyone middle class or lower, it seems. Apparently, money is everything. But you better have manners, or else people will politely tell you it's wrong and then still worship you and suck your dick.

I shake my head and turn to Gamzee with knitted brows and a frown. He smiles down at me and gives a little wave and tilts his head curtly. "How on Earth did you train him like that?" I ask, walking over to my car and throwing my school stuff in the back.

"I have no idea," he replies, leaning against the hood of my automobile. He rubs his elbows and lower back on it and continues, "He just really likes me. He don't much appreciate my vocabulary, but if I boss him around, he usually ignores it because he's too hot downstairs to even carry on politely himself. If ya know what I mean."

I cringe a little and stare up at him disgustedly. "Are you saying you fucked him, too?"

"Well, not in person, and it wasn't exactly sex. He just all up and IM'd me and asked to get orders from me; I didn't know he got off on it. But it's the best way to get him to put a sock in it. Or on it, I guess."

He laughs at his own little joke and I just feel sick and disappointed in humanity because, I mean, really? That's just odd and now I'm sure more people are like them. And that's just really depressing. What has this world come to? . . . Or rather, what has this world been more comfortable with revealing that it should keep hidden away forever? Of course this kind of strange master/slave with a stranger thing has always existed, but I wish we could go back and pretend it wasn't happening. But maybe I'm just a prude.

"So where's your little boyfriend?" he asks with a snort, stretching with a soft groan. "I wanna meet him."

"Is that really the only reason you're here?" I ask, digging in my back seat for car fresheners to hang up and trash to throw away. I'm not sure why I suddenly care what my car looks like, or why Egbert's opinion matters to me, but I find it's better not to ask why oneself is such a fickle, flippant ass. "And he's clearly not my boyfriend, as you're the one who planned all this."

"Then why are you still going along with it? Why are you cleaning out your fuckin' car?"

"Answer me first."

I bag up all the shit that was in my vehicle and toss it into a nearby dumpster, him still on my car's hood, leaning back more and more every minute. He's almost laying on it at this point. He chews on his lip piercing and clacks his tongue ring—oops, I mean _barbell—_against his teeth, quirks he has that means he's thinking something over or that he's nervous. With a sigh, he throws the last of his weight down with a loud thud and stares up at the sky. My poor car. His eyes are dulled down and his eyebrows twist up in an expression of exhausted sadness. "Nah, bro. I'm coming back. Ain't no point in hiding now, right? Maybe Tav will have more friends if they all fucking hate a cowardly liar."

I feel my eyes widen against my will and I let out a little surprised cough at this new bout of news. He turns his head over to look at me at the noise and asks softly, "What about you? You hate me, too?"

"No, no," I say back just as soft, walking toward him and leaning on my elbows next to his face. He looks so much prettier when it actually reflects how he feels inside. Okay, maybe "prettier" isn't the right adjective for the situation, but fuck. He looks real. And I love that. I let a small smile cross my lips and say, "Well, okay. I do. But not like one normally hates another. You're still my best friend, fuckface. Trust me. But this mopy, whiny, fake motherfucker that's lying on the hood of my car is certainly someone I wouldn't mind eradicating. I just want my bro back, not this sorry sack of genital herpes that I can never get rid of. It's good to see you alive again, not stuck behind a mask. Show me you. Even if it's angry."

His lilac gaze bores into me, a glint in them letting me know that he's thinking about my words. I raise my eyebrows and his long, deep facial scars crinkle up when he smiles. "That was all sorts of mighty gay, my sweet bro. But it was awful kind of ya." He lifts himself up and crosses his legs, the metal beneath him moaning under his weight. I straighten myself out with a stretch and feel a small tingle down my spine when he adds, "Oh, yeah. Why're you going on with these little date shenanigans?"

If I were angrier, I would say, "Because I'm tired of hanging out with your inconsiderate, selfish ass and I want to remember what it was like before you ruined my life." But I can't say that now, not when he's looking at me so contentedly and sweetly, no matter how much a part of me knows that statement to be horribly true. I hum a little and look to the side, choosing my words carefully, unable to look him in the face for fear of regretting my decision and ending up staying home with him. "Well, I think it would do me some good to be around other people for once." I look back up at him and pray to whoever will listen that I won't feel bad for not being chained to him for life. "You're always out, making new friends, doing odd jobs, and just doing whatever you want. I go to school and I come home and that's it. I've estranged myself to my old friends – the ones who didn't ditch _me_ – and all I know is you. And it's really hard to deal with sometimes, knowing that my whole life is Gamzee Makara, and that said man still has more of a life than me and that I'm not as necessary to him as he is to me. So that's why I'm allowing myself the torture that is John Egbert and his constant attitude of "LIFE IS GRAND!" even though I'll end up feeling nauseous and probably tear my own throat out to get away from his putrid optimism. And maybe I'm delusional and I'm desperately trying to trick myself into believing this is a good idea, but it's better than being miserable alone, and being miserable with you."

I didn't mean for that last part to come out as harsh as it did, but I'm a man of my word and I can't take them back, even if I wanted to. Which I don't, because I need him to understand how I feel. I want him to know how wretchedly unhappy I am these days. He looks thoughtful and chews it over some and eventually lets out a big sigh, hopping off of my car with a metallic clang, and wrapping his arms around me tightly. "I'm sorry, little bro. I didn't mean to make you feel so dismal and shitty with yourself. Or with me. I want you to have a life outside of me, motherfucker. I don't want to up and rain on your parade."

I smile to myself and close my eyes, hugging him back, pleased as piss and finding just the tiniest bit of closure in his words. "Thanks, I-"

"Hey, Karkat! I'm ready to—oh, am I interrupting something?"

I feel my body tense up and my eyes go wide. Just _fantastic. _I turn slowly and clear my throat, pushing Gamzee away from me roughly. "Um, no," I stutter out. "We were just, uh . . . Hey, let's just fucking go so you won't give me bad grades anymore, huh? I'm tired of making D's because of you. Do you some good to hang out with such an articulate, eloquent, natural-born leader of a man such as myself."

"Aw, no, man. You ain't all that good in the sciences. Now this motherfucker right here knows his science."

I punch the giant's arm hard and try to shoo him away, but the cheerful little punk in front of us breathes out, "Wow, is that the guy that's supposed to be dead? Man, this is so cool! It's like talking to a ghost!"

Yeah, don't I know it.

Still, I look up at my best friend to see if that comment didn't hurt him as much as I imagined it would, and he looks down at me and gives me the biggest grin I've ever seen, like he'd just been a victim in the Black Dahlia murder and he's sporting one hell of a Glasgow smile. He pats my shoulder and mutters, "Good luck with this one, Karkles. See ya at home." Turning to John, he waves a bit and says, "Good seein' ya, little man. Heard _all _about your bad self. Be good to my lil beefcake here, alright?"

He nods to me before taking off like the hulking asshat that he is. The kid in need of a dentist just smiles at me and I can't help but feel uncomfortable. Which is unusual. But I'm never alone with someone unless it's Gamzee. I always had a big group before. I'm not sure how to act around only one person, when all the attention is on you and if you fuck up, you bet someone's gonna notice. I must've been staring because he coughs a bit and asks, "So, are we heading out now, or?"

I mentally kick myself and settle on a nod and a hand gesture to inform him that it is, indeed, time for him to slide his ass on into my car so we can get this family sitcom that's sure to be canceled in one season on the road.

I start my car and wait for him to buckle up, asking, "Where to, o' holy one?"

He laughs a little and gives me directions and we ride on in silence until he eventually decides to open his mouth. Normally, he can't keep the damn thing closed. "Why did you decide to hang out with me, Karkat? I always thought you didn't like me very much. I was a bit surprised you told me all that stuff about being closed-off and whatever."

"Ugh, it wasn't me," I reply, unamused and standing on the edge of screaming _already._ "It was my roommate, the dead guy who isn't actually dead. But . . . I went along with it because I'm tired of being around him. And I'm tired of failing because of your stupid ass. You need all the help you can get."

"Oh . . . Well, I guess that's true. Better than nothing."

I raise an eyebrow and glance at him sideways. He looks so . . . Sad. Wow. I've never seen him sad before. Such a drastic change from his normal retarded-looking elation. I feel a little bad about being rude to him, but God, is he hard to like. Maybe I'm just jealous. Fuck, I know I am. He's got it all and I have nothing. And it's not fair. And he has so many friends that actually care about him and he's got nice things and I just wanna punch him in the kidneys. I puff out a small breath and ask, "Why do you even want to be around me so bad? I'm like the hole in your tires when you're trying to go to the hospital to see your dying mom one last time. I'm the compost heap your uncle decided to put in your front yard because he didn't want it in his, but he isn't considerate enough of you to move it. I win asshole contests and I've got a blue ribbon in hateability. I am nothing, not even a speck of shit caught between the ridges of your shoes. Why fucking bother?"

"Well, none of that's true," he murmurs back, and it hurts a little to hear him so down. And hell if I know why it does. It just does. "Stop being so down on yourself. Save the pity-party and just enjoy life. I think you're pretty damn rad. But what I think still doesn't matter. Just be good to yourself. You're the only you you've got."

Ow. Fuck. Why, me? You'll fall for anything, won't you? I shake my head and just mumble a small "whatever." I'm not in the mood for a feelings jam with someone I don't even like. Not now, not ever. And holy crow, his house is huge. I pull into the driveway with a look that says it all and he chuckles and assures me it's not that great.

"Your driveway is made of golden bricks, dude. How the fuck is that not great?"

"Because of reactions like that," he says blankly, closing the car door behind him. "Welcome to the House of Flying Daggers. In which the daggers are cooking supplies because my dad bakes all the time."

"Shit!" I duck just in time to avoid getting battered with, well, batter from a whisk. I look over at John and he shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head, shaggy black hair going back and forth.

"See? I wasn't lying. Hurry up before the knives come out."

Oh. This is going to be just wonderful. Go me.


	4. Sterne sind Raumschiffe

**AN: Wow, I'm dishing these pups out like crazy these days! But they keep getting shorter. In fact, this is the shortest thing I've ever written. Sorry about the lack of length (teehee) and how it's all everywhere. I've got a lot of self stuff to work on and this is sorta my only outlet for my emotional junk because I dislike burdening others, so you can definitely tell what kind of mood I'm in based on my writing alone. Merr, I'm babbling. Anyway, I hope you like it. Stay tuned, and thank you for being so supportive of me and my works. I love you all dearly. Have a great day! . . . Or night. Or something. It's almost midnight here. o3o**

**~the plot thicken /dies**

* * *

The first thing I notice as we enter the house are tons of clowns. Clowns everywhere. Harlequins, sad irony clowns, happy clowns, disturbing clowns. In what world is it okay to have so many clowns crammed together? I shiver a little at a comedy/tragedy harlequin in particular. It's so eerie and its eyeless sockets seem to follow me wherever I go. He takes note of my being unsettled and opens his mouth to speak, but a loud clang stops us in our tracks and he mutters a quiet expletive in response.

"Oh, hey, John!"

Frozen in the long corridor that is his home's main entrance, we look up in time to see a tall man with a fedora throw a knife through the air, making a blunt popping noise as the blade lands into the wall behind us, and I wonder if he does that on purpose or if he's just really clumsy. Either way, I duck down lower and make sure that whatever he throws next will hit John first.

Said human shield laughs at my defense position and turns to the hat guy with a little wave. "Hi, Dad," he says back calmly. "Mind not throwing utensils everywhere? I have a friend over."

"Oh?" His father runs down the hall with a spoon in tow and stops just before making a head-on collision with my face. He looks me over, taking a puff of his wooden pipe thoughtfully, and eventually says, "Hello, John's friend. You can call me Dad."

"Uh, I'm Karkat," I reply, confused, but slightly amused. What a weird guy. "I think I'll just stick to Mr. Egbert, thanks. Or whatever your first name is."

"Ah, name's aren't that important. What _is_ important is that you treat my boy well, you hear? I love him with all my heart. He's my precious baby-"

"_Alright, Dad_," John grumbles out, hiding his face in his hands. "I think he gets it. He's just here to help me with some school work and then he'll leave and my embarrassment will be over, okay?"

Dad Egbert looks to his son with hurt eyes, over-dramatizing his bruised fatherly feelings by placing the back of his hand to his forehead like he's about to faint. "Oh, John! My poor boy Johnathan! How could you do this to your father? My hair is graying, my skin gets more wrinkles as the days pass – all because of you! And you cannot even tell your old, dying pappy that you love him dearly?"

"God's sakes, Dad," John mumbles again, hunching over a little as he covers his red face more in horror. "Stop watching soaps and be more productive with your time."

Dad chuckles a little and waves goodbye as his son drags me up the stairs and into his room. The victim of parental affection closes the door behind us and I take in the scenery. Nerdy posters everywhere, horrible movies stacked neatly in a pile next to his bed that's decorated in "manly, action" sheets that are surely overcompensating for something. His large flatscreen sits atop an ebony stand that's filled to the brim with video games and yet more movies, and all the latest gaming systems are plugged into it like one big, happy family. Older systems and even some outright ancient ones sit on either side of the setup, extended family of sorts, and certainly not forgotten – not a single thing has dust on it in this place. His computer desk is spotless and his Alienware desktop perches on it in expensive beauty in all its twenty-eight inches of glory, right next to a large laptop of the same brand, an assortment of games neatly piled underneath. One wall is just a huge bookshelf that's entirely full with tomes from every genre and time range and author that I can imagine. And every single one of them is polished to perfection, even ones that are clearly so old.

I can't help but feel yet more jealousy, as if I didn't have enough reasons to hate him. Other than Nic Cage's face plastered everywhere, this room is close to perfection – huge, neat, clean, and great quality building materials mixed with all the latest and greatest furnishings makes for a very sulky and irritable Karkat because I lack nice things, even with Gamzee's metric fuckton of money. Because I don't want to be a rude asshole and waste it all.

"Sorry, it's a little messy," John mutters, snapping me out of my raging stupor as he tidies up his bed a bit and looks for excuses to fidget, going as far as fixing crooked picture frames that actually aren't at all crooked.

"Oh, fuck off," I say back, throwing my bag to the ground and putting my hands on my hips. "Your house is amazing and your room is the epitome of perfection, sans the Cage. And you know it, so don't even say dumb crap like that. No one's falling for it."

He continues to stare at his perfectly uncrooked pictures for a while longer before turning to me and flashing an apologetic smile. "Yeah, I know. Cage isn't as cool as I thought he was a few years ago. I just haven't taken anything down yet. I guess I'll do that now that I'm thinking about it."

I watch him closely as he peels poster after poster off of his white walls, folding them up neatly and placing them on the light blue carpet of his room. He does it so calmly and carefully, like they're his children and he has endless love and patience for them, like he doesn't want them to know he dislikes them now and that he's abandoning them to make room for something he loves more. I never thought staring at a guy taking down posters could make me feel so shitty about myself, but hey. I've been more surprised about dumb shit before. Maybe it's some super psychological reason about my mommy and daddy issues hiding in tape and bad actors. Or maybe I'm just really stupid.

When he's done, he takes his large stack of glossy paper and opens the door to his closet, pulling off the lid to a cardboard container and placing them in there ever so gently. He pats the lid once its back on and pulls the chain to the light and closes the door behind him. Staring down at the floor, he holds his hands behind his back and tilts his head slightly before closing his eyes and shaking his head and walking back over to me.

"That's all, folks," he says cheerily, picking up his own bag and tossing it on his bed, such a radical change from his former cautiousness.

I stare quizzically before following his lead and placing mine next to his bed as I sit down. And oh my God. It's the most comfortable thing my ass has ever had the pleasure of planting itself on. I must've made my intense bliss clear because he laughs a little as he pulls out a Chemistry book and says, "Yeah, everyone likes the bed; it's a memory foam mattress."

And . . . That sort of pisses me off. Everyone? How many bitches have been on here? And then those thoughts piss me off more because why the fuck do I care if some glasses-wearing, buck-toothed weirdo nerd is getting laid? Probably because God knows I'm not. Just more jealousy. I'm so green, I could be mistaken for a leprechaun. The whole short thing certainly helps with that, too. Even Four-Eyes here is taller than me. And that's annoying. Being short sucks all of the balls. All of them.

"Hm, who knew John Egbert was a master of seduction?" I mumble, more to myself than anything, as I take out my own book, which somehow looks worse than his and I shouldn't be surprised anymore about how much better everything he owns is in comparison to mine.

"Oh, no, no, no," he replies, shaking his head rapidly. "That's so not what I meant. I just meant, like, I have a lot of friends, and they come over and stuff and wow. I really could've said that better, huh? Well, shit."

I open to the appropriate page, paper and pencil still shoved inside as a place-holder, and quirk an eyebrow at him, eyes half-lidded in dull angst. "Why would you even deny that? Shouldn't you be all over the showmanship of sexual prowess and drag those masculine balls over every face you see, willing or not?"

"Oh, God, that was a horrible metaphor. Or whatever that was supposed to be." His face is a little red as he takes out his notebook and pencil from his bag, and he clears his throat before going on. "I don't have much experience and I don't really care to talk about it. Sex is honestly the last thing on my mind."

"Why?"

He turns to me with eyes as wide as Nicki Minaj's ass and the red tint on his face gets darker and darker as he stares at me in shock. "What do you mean?" I can't help but smile a little at his small stammer. Such reluctance to have such a conversation. This'll be fun.

"I mean, how is it the last thing on your mind? You're a teenager. We're _always _thinking about sex. Not to mention you have a penis, and males apparently think about it more. Which is something I find difficult to believe since I know more promiscuous girls than boys, but still. It's natural. Unless you're horribly embarrassed by your preferences or it's a religious or spiritual thing, that statement is a dead lie."

His eyebrows furrow a bit and he whines, "No, I'm serious! What's the point in thinking about something that'll never happen, especially when you've got so much other things to do?"

"Oh, wow."

I meant to keep that to myself, but it didn't stay in my head because nothing stays in there for very long, it seems. He raises both of his eyebrows and widens his eyes, jutting his head forward in a motion meaning, "Well? Say something else." But I can't. Because I don't know what to say. I simply shrug and mumble, "Touché."

"Yeah, that's what I'm sayin'. Now, can we please skip all of the usual perverse talks that teenaged boys have and get to this homework? Because I would hate to fail this shit again." He looks over at me from the corner of his eye before looking down at his notes and adding, "And it's not a religious or spiritual or shame thing. I just don't see why we place such an importance on something that's so fleeting when we could be doing much more productive things."

I just shrug again. True enough, but . . . That doesn't stop me. Or anyone else, unless there's something up with their cranial hookups. Or they're prepubescent or something. I think even if I were dying, I would still get thoughts like that crossing my mind. But I let the subject drop and carry on with helping him through his fairly simple work, and move on through the book to help him with later chapters. And I don't know why I do; I shouldn't care if he fails for the second time (I was unaware of him failing the first time), but a part of me feels bad for him. Which is odd, because he has literally everything. _He _should feel bad for _me. _But the last thing I want is pity, especially from him. I even help him with classes that he doesn't have me for. I suppose that shocks both of us, because his curiosity and gratefulness is made pretty clear. He certainly wears his heart on his sleeve, to be sure. His face is so full of expression: wiggly eyebrows, widening and narrowing eyes, and a mouth that isn't only used for smiling, it seems.

Wait. That sounds creepy. Really creepy. Back track that. I'm not a rapist.

I use the excuse that I don't want to fail to help him out, but that doesn't make much sense as I'm scanning through his other books and finding things he needs more assistance with. And he knows this, too, but keeps his lips closed tight on the matter. I don't even know why, dude, so stop looking at me like that.

With a heavy sigh, I drop my supplies back into my bag and stretch out, back popping a little in thanks for it not being so hunched over. Without even thinking, I lay down and close my eyes. I forgot what it's like to have a real home, any bed will do. I forget where I am sometimes. But I remember quickly when I hear a small chuckle and feel something cold on my hip. I jump and smack at whatever was touching me and see John holding his hand and grinning down at me.

"You have a tattoo of mermaid-goat on your hip?" he asks, rubbing his hurt hand lightly.

I feel my face flush and I get up and grab my bag and make my way for the door, but he's already there and blocking it and I don't know whether to be mad that he's in my way or impressed that he made it there so quickly and silently. So I settle on both. I glare and cross my arms and he smiles crosses his arms back.

"Would you just get out of my way, Egbert?" I growl out, tired of playing games with people. Tired of people, period. "You're being really immature. You'll never get laid with that attitude."

He rolls his eyes and straightens out some, smile falling into a frown. "Yeah, I know that. But tell me what's up with that weird thing first, and then I'll let you leave and you can ignore my existence for the rest of your life."

"Why do you care?"  
"Why do you?"

I narrow my eyes more and tilt my head up, baring my teeth in a scowl. He's got a point, though. Why do I care so much that he saw that? Oh, right. Because it's fucking embarrassing and Gamzee doesn't even know about it. How would he? I'm a mistake and nothing "intimate" will ever happen between us again. And yet I got this stupid fucking thing like it'll fix my issues with his sorry self, endured guitar strings and ink and probably unsanitary conditions for it, and it's just another failure. And, for some reason that I can't think of but I'm sure it's just as stupid, I don't want anyone to know how much I fail so hard at living. My only chances at being happy are flukes, and I'm the only one who wants those things to happen, and they regret it if it does happen. Forever and always.

At this point, I'm a little defeated, beaten by my own mind and harsh reality. I lower my arms and my head, staring at the floor and giving yet another small shrug in response. "I don't know. Because I'm retarded?"

He sighs lightly after a little while and I hear the familiar shuffling of socks on carpet. "Hey."

I look up and he's right there, in front of me, looking down with such a soft expression that I want to beat him to death because the look is just like how Gamzee used to look at me. Before I ruined everything. I try to look down again, but he won't let my face drop from his cool hands. And it's both intimidating (God knows how _he_ can be) and somehow comforting. And kind of disturbing because I don't really know him and I hate being touched and it's all just very strange. Or maybe everyone else touches each other's faces all ding-dong-day and I'm the odd one out here. Either way, I don't look away from the bright spring sky that is his eyes.

"Shut up with the self-deprecation bullshit," he says sternly, baby blues hard and serious. "Life is too short to be worrying about how others will see you. Live a little, huh?"

And yet another good point from the person I expect it from the least. How oh how did it end up like this: Egbert being agreeable and me being a little bitch begging for attention from anyone dishing it out? Ugh. I direct my stare to something less sensible but keep my head where it is, finding the most unsettling feelings from his hands being on me. Anyone will do, huh, Karkat?

"Just let me leave," I whisper pathetically, brows knitting in frustration at myself and frustration at everyone else. I'm just a big ball of pitiable midget and I simply cannot wait for everyone to treat me like I'm glass. Or so my subconscious says. But my pride that's still around here somewhere tells me to man up and let no one in my life and to not allow people to help me even if I really need it. Hell, even if I just want someone to treat me like I'm a human being.

"Karkat, you're really not as alone as you like to think you are. Lots of people want to be your friend. You're pretty cool. NOW QUIT BEING SUCH A BITCH AND JUST HAVE FUN WITH ME, YOU ASSHOLE!"

I start a little and stare at him with surprise, totally unprepared for anything like that, especially, once again, from him. And somehow, I find I tolerate him a little more. Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? I like the kid. I never really hated him to begin with. It was all jealousy talking. I smile unconsciously and mumble, "Thanks." It's so quiet, but I know he hears it. People are always looking for opportunities to catch me being friendly. They always hear any nice things I say.

He pats my shoulders kindly and says, "Great! So, you wanna hang out some more, without schoolwork getting in the way?"

My mind giggles a little at the perverse way I could take that, but I keep it professional and agree to stay a little longer.

We play some video games, watch some movies, and listen to music. I show him things I like and he shows me things he likes. And some things we both like, and he gets all giddy about it and I shake my head at his dramatic reactions to every little thing that I do. It makes me really happy that someone is willing to listen to me instead of ignoring me or only using me as an emotional punching bag for them to vent their issues and then leave me with the beating. I guess Gamzee's texts to him were spot-on. Sure, people might hurt you, but some of them could be really cool. You'll never know if you don't open up and give them a chance. You can't be happy all the time, but it sure is nice to feel like I matter again.

He makes sure his dad is out of the kitchen before walking with me to my car. He doesn't want me to get mauled by cakes and die of forceful diabetes. I assure him that I'd be fine with it, but that that's very thoughtful of him.

"Well, I'll be seeing you," he says quietly, looking at me with contentment. Probably relieved I didn't kill him or burn down his house.

I nod a little and open my car door. He makes to leave but I stop him with a small, "Hey."

Turning around, he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head a little. "Yes?"

I breathe out a small puff of air and force myself to look at him. "The tattoo was for someone I was in love with, who will never love me back."

He looks a little concerned for a bit before walking closer to me and putting a hand on my shoulder. Smiling deviously, he purrs, "Who knew Karkat could feel such disgusting human emotions?"

I let out a snort and push him off of me, shaking my head and getting in my car. "See? This is why I don't tell people things."

I start it up and put it in reverse before he comes over and knocks on the window. I reluctantly roll it down and raise an eyebrow in reply. "You'll find someone who cares about you, too. Some day. Don't worry. Well, good night. I'll see you tomorrow."

He waves a little and walks away and I can't help but feel a little dead inside on my way home. I really don't believe that someone will ever reciprocate my feelings for them, unless it's hatred, but I know I'll definitely feel the same stupid flutters in my stomach and constriction in my chest as I do with my best friend again, with someone else.

In fact, I do right now. And I want to bash my own brains in upon realizing that I have a crush on John Egbert. Please, Jeebus. Kill me now.


	5. Gesundheit

**AN: This was hard to write. Personal shit and all. I'm sorry. I love you. ;_;**

* * *

When I finally get home, the journey a vast blank in my mind due to my self-indulgent distractions, I lock the door behind me and fall against it, a pool of misery and confusion. How could I let this happen? Again, with _him. _It's like I just disregard myself in everything I do, because none of my decisions are ever beneficial to me. Maybe I'm an emotional masochist? Or we can go the mental route and attribute it to my extreme loneliness and dehumanization and say that I fall in love with anyone who's nice to me. But then I don't know if my feelings about anything are real or if they're just a product of being a pariah and ignorance to what affection really means. And that's sorta depressing. And totally shitty to anyone that I feel any sort of companionship with. As much as I loathe people, I don't want them to think that I only like them because I don't know what else to feel.

I sigh and bring my knees to my face, resting my head against them, black hair falling into my eyes. I just keep thinking "Anyone will do, anyone will do, anyone will do-" and that's awful. I'm awful. And now I can't stop questioning myself and every emotion I've ever had for anything because I don't know if they're real or not, or if I'm just a fraud. The good news is I know how they feel. They'll never like me back. So, that's good. It's great to know that I can always be right about something. There's a familiar ache in my chest and a flutter in my guts and I stare at my arms wrapped around my legs and wonder if it's really worth doing again. I haven't cut in so long, and I know it's wrong to do, and I know it's stupid, and I know that one of these days I could end up hitting a vein if I keep it up, but . . . I want to do it. For the first time in a while, I feel like I need to get my kit out and go to town on myself. And nothing bad is really happening to me right now, but I sit and go back over every horrible thing that's ever happened to me and I want – no, _need –_ it more and more until it's unbearable and acid rises and burns up my throat with disgust at myself and anxiety in knowing Gamzee could walk in.

And that's what seals the deal for it. I want him to see. I want him to know what he does to me.

I tiptoe swiftly along the carpet of the living room, skid across the linoleum of the kitchen, and hop into the tiled bathroom, closing the door but leaving it unlocked. No, I don't really want him to walk in on me mutilating myself like a whiny punk, but if he does . . . I hope it makes him cry.

I open the sink cabinet and reach into the very back, finding my black art bag, heart ready to burst any minute now. With a shaky breath, I roll up my sleeves and sit in the bathtub, kit in my trembling hands. There's a certain rush I get from taking out one of my well-used utensils, the sentimental value heavy in the small surgical blade I stole from the science room my freshman year. It still has dried blood on the part I always hold. My other tools – a various assortment of razors, surgical blades, knives, safety pins, and broken glass – stare on in twisted emotion, not knowing whether to be jealous of my favorite friend, or to be amazed at how deep he'll surely go.

A giddy elation spreads throughout my body, numbing my fingers and toes and making me want to laugh endlessly. Nothing's funny. It never is. But I always want to howl with ecstasy once I pull out a blade. Yet I watch in horror at myself as I dig its shiny point into my flesh, starting from the top of my left wrist and going down to the crook of my elbow. It stings immediately, but that doesn't stop me. Another vertical stripe of red, and another, and another and another. A plot twist arises when I start from the left and drag it roughly to the right side. It's not uniform and pretty and precise anymore; my gashes become ragged and torn and begin to splatter and make sickly wet noises as the blood pools and my other hand gets drench in crimson warmth. So much for these gray pants. At least my shirt is black.

Soon, I begin work on my other arm, straight lines turning to crooked angles as the ruby drawings come together in shameful camaraderie. I don't feel anything anymore. No pain, no sting, no gushy throbbing. I stop myself anyway and place the blade down on the side of the tub, blood dripping from the pieces of skin still hanging off of it. I shut my eyes tightly and pretend that I didn't do a thing and start to cry. I forget that I'm not alone in this house, but if I really cared, I would be much quieter. I always do this. I always let things pile on higher and higher until I can't take it anymore. I open my eyes and halt my sobs to examine the damage. I've never bled so much before. What once was a gleeful rush is now disgust rising in my throat and threatening to pour out of my mouth. Even the walls are splattered in tiny droplets of garnet. My legs are soaked from my arms lying on top of them. I cringe a little and stand up slowly, slightly dizzy from the sight and the realization of what I've done. I ease myself over the tub and lock the door. Taking off my shirt, I grab a towel and a first aid kit, so used to the routine that it's not even funny. I pull off my pants and turn on the water for a quick shower.

And yet I'm still not used to the hot water pounding my discomposure into numb submission. I reluctantly stare at my wounds and feel that I can't hold in my bile any longer. My nose burns and I choke out the last of my disgrace with tears in my eyes, avoiding watching the water send it away down the drain. I've never done that before. I've never done it so wildly that my arms look like they were made of paper and that someone just tore them to shreds. They're deep and ragged and I can barely make out any of my pale skin due to the sheer immensity of the cuts. No, they're not cuts. They're too big. A part of me wants to wake up Gamzee and get him to take me to the ER, but my pride comes by to tell me that it'd be better to die than to let anyone know what dishonor I've spewed out upon myself. Stupidly, I listen to it and turn off the water.

I dry off a bit before applying pressure to my arms and wrapping them up nicely in bandages and medical tape. I probably need stitches. Oh, well. I sigh quietly, turning off the light and wrapping myself up in the towel, allowing myself to find thoughtless sleep in the cold ceramic of the bathtub.

"Ay yo, Karkles!"

I jump awake and blink slowly, taking in the environment and acknowledging that I did, indeed, sleep naked in a bathtub last night. The small window shines down on me and lets me know that it's morning and that I probably need to get myself together and go to school. Gamzee's erratic pounding on the door is the last thing I register before closing my eyes again and resting my head against the side of the tub. I really don't feel like waking up or doing anything, but I suppose I need to because life goes on regardless of how you feel. I stare down at my wrapped arms and notice I bled through my bandages some. I know replacing them is going to suck. The wrapping always gets stuck to the wounds and they try to heal over it. I shudder preemptively and stand up, stretching my back and legs. They creak at me, chastising me for doing what I did and for putting them in such an uncomfortable position. I apologize quietly and remember that my friend is still outside the room.

"Sorry, Gamzee," I say calmly, removing my tape slowly, grimacing at the pull that's already so intolerably painful. It's always so much worse the next day, and it seems like everyone goes out of their way to hit your arms when you go to school, and you try your best not to let them know that it hurts, but sometimes it's like they already know so they're punishing you as they see fit.

I grab at another roll of large cloth bandages and wrap them around one cracked arm that's begun to bleed again. I let a quiet expletive leave my mouth before continuing on with my words to Gamzee. "Rough night, just got in. What time is it?"

"It's motherfucking noon, bro," he replies, finger tapping the door lightly. I can just see him hunching near it, one hand on his hip, the other arm pressed to the door in irritation. I can't help but smile some at my imagination as I finish unwrapping my other arm. "You couldn't have been with little Johnny all night, hm?"

Fuck. I didn't even think of that. "No, I was . . . Solo playing." Christ, does this arm hurt!

"I ain't believing a word you spit, sir. But I'm sure it's no business of mine. Anyway, we need to get this show on the road. It's my first day back and I'm already motherfuckin' late."

Double fuck. I forgot about that, too. "Right, right," I mutter, tearing off the last bit of tape and admiring my lovely nursing job with a sense of sick pride. Wouldn't be any good at it if I didn't do it all the time. Sheesh. With a shake of my head, I pick up my dirty clothes off the floor and go to the door, yelling, "I'm naked, so move your ass!"

"Oh, I don't get to see? You're zero bits of fun, nubby bro." He chuckles lightly, but the noise gets quieter and quieter and I know he's gone into the living room to wait for me and I thank God that he was made so simply in his brain. He's fucking brilliant, yeah, but he lacks the patience to think things out before doing what others tell him. Or at least, that's how he is with me.

Still, I keep my towel around me, hiding my nudity, my arms, and my bloody clothes. I'm just one big secret, I guess. The world's shittiest liar. I shuffle to my room and close the door behind me, dropping the towel and clothes as I comb through my closet hangers, trying to find thick shirts and jackets to ensconce my self-mutilation. Wrapping them up only disguises their appearance, but if someone happens to touch my arms, they'll feel the bandages and ask the dreaded "What's that?" And I don't want to explain how I'm a moron in many ways. I put on a thin turtleneck and pull a sweater over it and a jacket over that. Satisfied, I pick out random underwear and pants and hoard my ruined clothes behind everything else to find something to do with them later when he's not in my face.

He flashes his sharp teeth at me when he sees me walk into the kitchen, getting up from his seat on the couch to follow me like a puppy. He wraps his arms around me as I pop a piece of bread into the toaster. I push on his face roughly when he goes to kiss my cheek and he steps back looking confused and hurt, twisting his fingers in front of his chest, clacking his mouth jewelry together. "Um, did I fuck up?"

A small smile crosses my lips at how doglike he really is and I shake my head and roll my eyes. "No, I just haven't brushed my teeth yet. It's all eh in there."

He's quick to smile again and hops to me, giving me a tight hug and multiple kisses to my face. "I don't care; I _love _that special kinda stank you got all up in there."

"Ugh, Gamz-hey! Stoppit! Keep your hands where I can see them! I'm not getting molested already this morning!"

"It's afternoon, babe! Time for molesting!"

"G-Goddammit! Get off of me!"

"Nooo!"

He throws himself down on the floor and takes me with him, wrapping his arms and legs around me and holding me close to his chest. I struggle against him at first, but I already know he's a lot stronger than me and decide to just mutter to no one in particular against his shirt. He stops giggling insanely and hums his contentment, rubbing my back and playing with my hair. As much as I'm supposed to be taking it like it's annoying, I actually really like it. I like it when he touches me, is nice to me – and it makes what I did last night that much more difficult to deal with. But that's what I hate about him. He makes you regret thinking badly of him. Stupid prick, always going from a huge cockmongler to the sweetest person ever.

"Hey," he says quietly, but the vibration from his chest is immense and makes me shiver some. "This is familiar, huh?"

I look up at him and eye him cautiously. "What do you mean?" I ask, voice low and wary.

"I mean, us. This. Only we're fully clothed."

Oh no. Hell no. _Hell fucking no. _You will not do this to me just as I'm starting to get over you!

"Yeah."

. . . Goddammit, I'm such a chump. Tell him off, Karkat!

"I really do love you, Karkles."

" . . . Yeah. I know."

We go to school in my car and I don't say much and he doesn't prod me and that's always nice. I like not being picked for information. And I like that he knows this and doesn't press me on anything. One of his few redeeming qualities, it seems. He just holds my hand and stares out the windshield thoughtfully. I wonder just what he thinks of me. Am I his best friend? Am I someone he keeps around because he knows I'll put out if he wants me to? Am I a necessity, or only a convenient person who's easy to use? Lord knows I don't put up a fight with him. Any sensible person would've left by now. But I'm not sensible in the least. I'm kind of the full retard. He can make me do anything he wants. He knows this. And fuck does he take advantage of that.

I sneak out of the crowd that formed around us when we got out of the car. I don't want to be in a mob dedicated to kissing his ass and asking him questions I already know the answer to. They can have him; I'm a bit sick of Gamzee Makara. I know this is probably when he needs me the most, but I want no part in their bestial behavior. He can handle it; he's a big boy now.

I put away my things and sit in front of my locker, holding my arms to my chest as they throb and sting and bleed some more. It makes me a bit nauseated, honestly, knowing that I could do something so idiotic to myself without much thought. And it makes me sicker still to agree with myself that it most likely won't be the last time I do something like that, either.

"Wow, Karkat. You look horrible."

I look up from the dirty floor to see Terezi looking down at me, glasses falling down enough for me to see the intense gaze of her turquoise eyes. She looks so concerned about me. And I love it. I smile a little and nod, returning my attention to dust bunnies skittering across the tiles in graceful swirls. "I know," I whisper, chuckling a little. "I always do."

She hums her distaste and sits beside me, putting an arm around my shoulders, and I almost start crying because I've missed her so much. I didn't realize how much I did until now. "What's wrong, baby?"

No, don't call me that! I'm tired of crying! I clench my jaw in anxiety and bite my tongue to keep from crying. I just keep shaking my head and shut my eyes, hoping she'll remember what a piece of horse stool I am and leave me be, alone like how I was always meant to be.

She takes my face in her other cool hand and forces me to look her in the eyes. Her glasses are set aside on the floor and her eyes look slightly glossy, like she's about to cry. And I don't want that. I don't want her to cry because of me. I place one of my hands on the side of her face, forgetting about my fresh wounds momentarily, and cringing a little when I remember. But that doesn't really matter and I ignore her concern for it.

"Terezi," I start, just barely smiling. "I love that you worry about me, but the last thing I want is for you to ruin a perfectly good afternoon on my sorry ass."

She chuffs at me and rolls her eyes in the perfect picture of over-dramatics. "Don't be like that. I just wanna know if you're okay."

And that's the question that always gets me. I can't deal with that. I shake my head and laugh, but my laughs quickly turn into choked sobs and she holds me to her tightly, protecting me from everyone and everything that could even think about hurting me. It's sad that everyone has to fight my battles for me, as much as I adore how she cradles me and whispers sweet things in my ears, things that make me think that I might just be okay, but I don't want to believe it. I assume I love being miserable too much to give in to the bliss of ignorance and kind words.

"I'm here for you, Karkat," she says softly, smoothly, face pressed to my own and arms locked around me with no possibility of finding a key. "Don't ever doubt that. You can always come to me."

And I cry harder and cling to her for dear life, pressing my face down in the crook of her neck, tired of the attention of her searing eyes, but tired of hiding my tears from everyone as well. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I-"

"Shhh, it's okay. I know about him. But you'll be okay. I'll keep you okay."

"I did something bad . . ."

"I know, love. I know. We all fall sometimes."

"I love you."

I can feel her smile and chuckle quietly. "I love you, too."

Just as I get comfortable on her, with her, with myself, it's over. A loud "ahem" cuts our time short, but I don't look up. I just hide my face on her cold collarbone and pray he'll leave.

"Hey, cunt."

"Hi, fuckface. Maybe you should try to kill yourself again. Try not fail this time."

"How about I fucking kill you, bitch?"

"You wanna try? Because I can take your bitch ass on."

"Oh, really? Well come over here and motherfuckin' go for it, ya stupid whore!"

"BOTH OF YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

I lift myself up out of my temporary nest and stand up, wiping my face off on my sleeves and swearing at the tedious pain I keep forgetting about. "Really, guys? Really? What the fuck?!"

"Hey, she started it!"

"I did not, you ignorant shit!"

"I don't fucking care who started it, just shut the hell up!" I turn to Gamzee and point at him like I'm talking to a child. "You! Stay the fuck away from her. If you even touch her, I'll cut your dick off and feed it to you!" I direct my attention to Terezi now and soften my tone up a bit and continue, "And you. Just don't talk to him. Please."

She grins and sticks her tongue out at the giant behind me in victory.

"You fucking cunt, I'll bite that motherfucking thing out!"

I reach up and smack him in the mouth and bare my teeth. "Don't you even fucking dare. Terezi! Quit taunting him!"

"What the hell is going on here?"

I turn to my left to tell off this little punk, but see John walking with one of his friends and I raise an eyebrow and tilt my head. "Who the hell are you?"

"Oh, Karkat," John says apologetically, kicking his feet out some. "You don't know Dave? _The _Dave Strider? He's only the coolest kid ever."

I feel a burning sensation in my stomach and I quirk up the other brow. "Oh, really?"

"He's right," Terezi says, standing up beside me and putting a hand on my shoulder. Putting her glasses back on, she adds, "Dave's the ultimate coolkid."

The blonde guy who's a good five inches taller than John shrugs and says, "Well, yeah. I guess I am pretty bad ass."

Oh, so humble. "Yeah, okay. Anyway, what we're doing is none of your business."

"It is if two dudes are yelling at my girlfriend."

Without a thought, my brows furrow and my mouth gapes. I look over at Terezi and she simply smiles and shrugs and walks over to Dave. He puts his arm around her waist and cocks his head.

"When the hell did this happen?"

"Months ago? We don't really talk anymore . . ."

"Yeah, so could you guys quit shouting at her. Giant guy! Make another threat to her and I'll beat the ever-loving shit out of you."

"Try me."

"Gamzee, shut the hell up. Seriously. Wait, okay. So Terezi is dating you?"

"Yup."

"I am, yes."

"And you're friends with John?"

"Best friends!"

"Yeah, what John said."

I stand there, staring at the three of them, and look over my shoulder at Gamzee, who snaps his teeth at me and glares at the other three. Looking back over to the other kids, I realize just how out of the loop I am at this place and blink at them dumbly, not knowing what else to say. They hate Gamzee. Well, John doesn't, I guess. And they're "best friends." Or dating. But she was my friend first. And I never really saw John with Dave before. But I like two of them. But I'm not too fond of Dave, coming in and disrupting my territory. But I still want to talk to them. _But _I can't just leave Gamzee behind. And I don't know coolkid.

"Augh!" I throw my hands up in anger and then growl more because of these fucking arms!

"Whoa, now." John walks over to me and pats my arm lightly. I hiss at him and pull my arms back to myself and glare at him harshly. "Okay, okay. Jeez. Did you hurt your arms or something?"

Innocent enough, but my heart skips a beat anyway, determined to fail me before I hit twenty. I stare at him and he raises his eyebrows and nods curtly. I look away and sigh, nodding back, defeated once more. I cave so easily these days.

"Something like that," I whisper, making sure only he can hear me.

The bells cuts him off as he opens his mouth, and he smiles and lets out a rough puff of air. "Tell me this hour, okay?"

"Okay."

I didn't even mean to say that, but as I watch him bounce off with his friends, chatting happily, I wish so badly to have that with him. I want him to talk to me about everything, even if it'll annoy the hell out of me. I want is so much.

I gasp loudly when Gamzee puts his hand on my shoulder, completely forgetting about him behind me. "Okay? Anyway, what're your classes?"

The most sinking feeling washes over me as I dig out my schedule. I actually forgot him. And I feel bad about that, him being such an important person to me this past year. But I feel worse because I wish he'd go away again. I actually liked it more when he wasn't at school. I had more freedom. Now that our group is dispersed and Tavros hates his guts, he'll be on me all the time.

I pretend I'm disappointed when we only have one class together, but I'm so relieved and, well, thankful. And I'm so glad that class isn't one I have with John. I can actually talk to him instead of worrying about what Gamzee will think of us.

He waves goodbye to me and I nod in return and make my way to my history class, eager to be around John's optimism. I haven't been willing to be around happiness in years. Maybe even all my life. Of course he smiles at me and my smile in return is small but noticeable. And that makes him smile more. And I fucking love that. Stupid as it is.

He asks about my arms once but I tell him I don't want to talk about it and he drops it fast and talks about much happier subjects. He even ignores Dave to talk to me in the hall. But then Dave joins the conversations and they're not so bad. He's actually pretty cool . . . For a narcissistic douche. But he's pretty funny and I am in some serious need of humor right now. I don't see Gamzee until we're at the car and he doesn't look at me and doesn't say anything.

As I make to get in the car, I see John hopping down the lot like an overly-enthusiastic bunny. I smile a little and raise an eyebrow, hanging over my door. I hear Gamzee snort in irritation, but ignore him bluntly.

"Heeeey, Karkat," Four-Eyes breathes out when he stops right in front of me.

"Yeeees, Egbert?" I ask back, smile getting bigger. I smile so rarely that my face hurts from the sheer exertion it takes to do it.

"Wanna come over again? I promise Dad won't stab you."

"Today?"

"Yeah!"

I hum in thought and poke my head in the car and ask, "Hey, is it cool if I go to his place after dropping you off?"

Still avoiding my face, he mutters, "It's your life, bro. Do whatever makes you motherfucking happy."

I sigh and tell John I'll be there in a little while, much to his excitement.

The ride home is strained and awkward. He won't talk to me even when I try to talk to him, so I stop trying to play nice and just listen to the radio in strange silence. He's usually chatty. So that means he's pissed about something. Ugh.

"Have fun," he says monotonously, exiting the car as soon as I pull into the driveway.

"Gamzee, wait! What is wrong with you?"

But the door is already closed and I'm not in the mood to deal with his petty bullshit, so I just reverse it out of here and make my way to a happier place. He can be angry by himself for once. Maybe then he'll realize how much shit I have to put up with . . .


	6. Lügen Lügen Lügen

**AN: Yay! Another messed up chapter. Omg. Huzzah. Awesome. /kills self**

***comes back to life***

**Oh, hey. I just killed the theme with this chapter title (they were all Funeral Suits song names, but . . . Daddy just done ran out, ya'll). /kills self again woohoomagic**

* * *

I can't stop thinking about him. I think of him when I'm awake, when I'm asleep, when he's gone, when he's here, when I'm happy and sad and angry and numb – my life is him.

Twice.

Two.

_More than one._

Why? Why do I do this to myself? One was bad enough. One was what killed us. And yet . . . It let slip that I wasn't hurting enough. Of course we made it relevant again. Of course we couldn't leave it in the past. But he doesn't see. He doesn't know. I couldn't show him. Not even when he was over me, pressing, begging, fighting to get me out of the only form of comfort I've ever known.

And I'd almost forgotten already. All those days and nights and dreams I spent thinking of one, two was nothing to remember. No, no, no. No, that's not right. Is it?

"Earth to Karkat."

I gasp at John's voice, to the point of almost choking myself. Holding a hand to my aching chest, I turn my head to the left and glare at him, teeth bared in a scowl. But I have nothing to be mad about with him. Please don't use him as a punching bag when he's the only one that actually cares, me. Don't be an insufferable prick to his worried, scared face. God, and don't look at me like that, Egbert. Stop trying to put Humpty together again.

"Y-yeah," I cough out, softening my gaze and staring at my feet dangling from the edge of his bed. Had he been talking the whole time? Our game is paused. I wonder how long I'd been wallowing in putrid thoughts of incestuous lust and regrets of every decision that's ever been made by or for me? How long have my eyes been burning? I shut them tightly, covering them in my hands with a raspy chuckle. Please let us blow this off as nothing. Be nice to me.

_Please just be nice to me._

I stand up with a broken whine, forgetting about the events of last night and this morning. Everything seems to hurt. At least I have something other than my arms to focus on. I hover over his bed after stretching a bit, reluctant to sit down, but nervous of his questioning eyes. Don't ask. Don't do it. John-

"What's wrong? You look like you feel just awful."

A shiver. A quaking that comes rhythmically, almost a sweet melody in conjunction with my variety of odd noises of negligence for my well-being. But he doesn't acknowledge my muted pleas for help. Because no sound escapes my head, my nerves receive no signal to provide motion – it's all mental. I'm fucking mental. Christ.

Stiffly, I turn to the doe-eyed boy, breath simultaneously leaving me and entering me with a forceful shove, lungs aching as I cling to the notion that he wants me in any sort of way, staring into his glorious eyes of ice and sky. That's all I do. I stare in wonder, I stare at his perfection and want to know just how he was made. He can't be human. Humans aren't as nice as he is. "Love me."

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what?'"

"You said something weird, maybe. Didn't you?"

"I . . . Maybe? What did you hear?"

"I don't know. What did you say?"

I narrow my eyes and remember that my body isn't allowing me to sit no matter how tired my legs get, so I stand up all the way and walk around, little circles to big circles, big circles to little circles. I don't have the energy to keep talking, regardless of how badly I desire chatter of any sort with this oxygen-depleting-and-adding creature. I just hope he keeps talking.

He sighs roughly and throws himself onto his back, bed frame squeaking under him with protests at the forceful nature of his frustration. "You've been acting weird since you got here," he says quietly, thoughtfully. Despite the shit I've already put him through, he's not angry with me. No, anger isn't it. He's more worried than anything, and though that makes me hurt because it's my fault his mind is restless, it also pleases me to know that he cares enough to _be_ worried. "I wish you'd just talk to me."

I stop my obsessive-compulsive circling and step on my tip-toes to look over him on the bed and feel incredibly guilty for his heartache and for my pleasure at said pain in his chest. His irises move slowly to my position, a mix of emotions with a thick layer of suspicion coating the frenzied mob. About a foot in front of him I stand, unwilling and unable to get any closer, but curiosity too great and powerful for me to not match my red irises with his blue ones. Face blank and voice dull, I reply, "I do want to talk to you."

Blue gains a shadow of black eyelashes over it as his eyes narrow cautiously. "So do it."

Red stays completely unshaded, bright and glistening as my expression remains constant. "It's hard."

Vibrant again is the blue as it becomes relieved of fearful instinct and instead is replaced by human compassion in the form of worry. "I don't see how; you can talk to me whenever you please. I thought that was made clear. I even put up with you being a jerk to me. Obviously, you not being an asshole and letting me into your crabby brain would be appreciated."

Red is reduced as my eyes crinkle with a smile. "Sorry."

Harsh persistence is out-shined by soft understanding and he sits up on his bed and I can't help but think disgusting thoughts about how close his face is to my thighs. I sicken myself sometimes. Almost all the time, really, if I'm being honest. But he ignores my squeak of sinful observation and focuses on my face alone. Good boy. Best friend.

"Karkat," he exhales with a multitude of emotions that I can't place. "Tell me about it. Maybe I can help. I'm not all rainbows and sunshine, either, buddy."

"You're not?"

I quickly bite my lip in embarrassment, not intending to let that thought out. He's always sparkly unicorns to me. But that's a little unfair, to think that he has no other thoughts or feelings. And sort of a soup can thing, with the labels and whatnot.

He chuckles and shakes his head, but remains as content as before, not mad at my indiscretions. "No, of course not. I've been through my fair share of bullshit, too. No one can be happy all the time, you know. But you can share your pain with others and allow them to help stitch the wounds together. With a little time and a lot of love, you can put yourself in a place you'd like to be. There will always be things to bring you down, but remember good times and know that someone's, that I'm, there for you. Now tell me what's up-"

"Shhhhhhit." I pull myself away at his touch, gentle but too much for my arms to handle. The hiss I try to keep locked away lets itself out and I shake my head a little and hold my arms to myself, taking a few steps back with a sad smile.

He looks shocked, his attempt at comfort shot down so hard in his face, but that's quickly thrown out when he looks mad as hell at my reaction. Standing up with another set of angry squeaks from his bed, he asks, "What the fuck happened to your arms?"

"Um, I . . ." I don't know what to say. I don't even remember what happened to them. I'm stepping back further and further, actually scared of him. He could hurt me so easily. Would he?

Any thought is successfully launched out of my head as he holds out an arm and says something I don't hear and I fall backwards over cords lying on the floor and hit a shelf full of movies full force with an exceptional thud. A waterfall of Nic Cage pours on me at my crash landing and I almost laugh, but I'm too wrapped up in how much that fucking hurt to let out much more than a small groan.

He's over me in seconds, grabbing one of my hands and holding onto the middle of my back to pick me up again and I want to beat him to a pulp for thinking I can't get up on my own and I want to thank him for knowing that I probably couldn't do just that by myself. My world is spinning and I allow myself to fall against his shoulder and mumble my thanks whilst lightly hitting his chest over and over.

He makes a strange noise, like he's about to hock a loogey, letting me know he's quite fed up with my all you can eat buffet of bullshit, and says, "Duuude. Just show me. I won't judge you. I have a pretty good idea of what's under your sleeves."

I squeeze my eyes shut and nod against his collarbone. With a wheeze and immense regret and anxiety, I lift myself from his cool protection and roll up a sleeve, as well as the layers of ones beneath it, revealing the once-white gauze underneath, stained brown from more blood, the scabs cracking with the abuse they've endured. I guess this is good; I can bandage them up again after this. Bright side, Karkat. All about that shit.

"It's pretty gross," I mutter, giving him a chance to back out of the revolting event.

"I don't care," he replies sternly, a hand on my back to keep me from falling back. He knows me better than I know myself, and wants me to stop when my limits are reached. I'm teetering on the edge of the black abyss of unconsciousness but still I want to please him so badly that I'm tearing off the dirty bandages instead of lying down.

I grit my teeth as the fabric sticks to the wounds and they try so hard to cling to it, making it so much more difficult than it needs to be. He doesn't make a noise, but he stiffens a little, hand tightening on my back some. I find it comforting in a sick sort of way. I let the germ barricade fall to the floor and work on the other arm.

I don't look at him. I can't. I just hold out my arms and stare at the blue carpet beneath me, pretending it's an ocean and I'm, thankfully, about to drown. It's only seconds before he's sick of me and throws me in. I just know it. He's so grossed out.

"How did you do this? It's . . . You couldn't have done this by yourself. There's no way."

I nod and mumble, "Surgical blade, my own hands."

"Does anyone else know?"

I shake my head slowly.

"How could Gamzee not know?"

"I didn't show him."

"Why haven't you told anyone?"

Shrug.

"You need a doctor; these things won't close on their own."

Shrug.

"Karkat, look at me."

I shake my head.

"Dammit, Karkat, I'm not fucking around here!"

I look up at him and scowl my most frightening of scowls. "Dammit, Egbert, neither am I! Just let me fucking die! What do you care? What does anyone care? Gamzee only keeps me around to fuck because Tavros hates his fucking guts – and I let him fuck me! I let him fuck me so hard. I can't even fucking sit down, he fucks me so hard. Do you wanna fuck me, too? Go ahead! That's my only fucking purpose. I'm everyone's fuckbuddy when they don't have anything else going for them. So fuck me, Egbert! Just go on now! But please, fucking kill me after. I don't wanna miss a fucking second of our hot, sweaty, hate-filled, hard-ass fucking. Don't make me forget about it, kid. Make it matter."

He grabs my wrists when I try to pull down my pants and I see his mouth moving but I don't hear anything even though it looks like he's yelling at me. Just let me do this. Then I can die and everything will be okay. Just do it. Do it. _Fucking do it already!_

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

"Is he okay?"

"He's stable now, but he was pretty malnourished and dehydrated. Are you two, uh, together?"

"What? Oh, no. No, not even. We only started hanging out recently. The other guy, the tall one, he's his roommate. So he knows him a lot better than I do."

"I see. I guess that's good. You haven't d-"

"He's just a friend, man. We've never done anything more than friendly business. Why're you so interested? Are you even a real doctor?"

"Now, now. It's just that he was yelling about 'him' and how his, um, rear end hurts, and there's clear evidence of tearing and various other signs of rape, and I just want to know if anyone-"

"Holy shit, you think I raped him? I fucking brought him here!"

"And investigation will still be underway. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Physically, he's not doing that great. He's get extreme exhaustion, he's underweight for his height, his arms are in the early stages of infection, and the previously mentioned tearing and bruising and malnutrition. Mentally, he's even worse. The entire time, he was yelling about a variety men doing things to him, his dad beating him half to death, and an abundance of other disturbing things that make me believe he was tortured all his life in many different ways. His body is covered in scars, but his brain is probably more scarred."

"So . . . Will he be alright?"

"I can take care of his physical problems, but this young man is in need of intense therapy. Would you try to talk him into it for his sake?"

"I don't need shit."

I open my eyes to see John and a tall albino man in a lab coat standing in front of me in a small, bright, white room. The walls and floors are tile, and I'm lying in a hard bed with IVs stuck into me and obnoxious machines hooked up to me. But I feel . . . Good. Well, I really don't feel anything. Nothing hurts anymore and I'm slightly groggy. Maybe it's morphine.

I try to sit up, but though I feel lighter than air, I'm heavier than lead, and I decide to stay put and chew them out from here. My thoughts come quickly, but it's too hard to say all that I want to say and all I get out is, "Gamzee didn't rape me, you fucknut, and John can't handle all this ass so he hasn't gotten any. Pussy couldn't even take it when I was offering. Couldn't kill me, either. Fucking vagina fart. You're Queen Laqueefa, Egbert. Get it? Because . . . Fuck. An' what I had with my dad ain't any of your Goddamn business, so fuck off. Just give me some Burger King, I'm motherfucking hungry."

Oh, that's so embarrassing. Not at all what I wanted to say. Jesus.

"Hello, Mr. Vantas," the albino guy says, pressing a button next to me. I feel happier and calmer in seconds and smile up at him giddily. "I'm Dr. Scratch. Now, I'm fixing you up right as rain and trying to make life a little easier for you, but you have to work with me, okay?"

I laugh a little and poke his stomach. "Man, you do whatever you need to. But serioushly though I'm so hungry I just wants some fries and maybe some ketchup but I really want a milkshake can you get me a milkshake- oh, fuck, John, you _scaaaaaared_ me! Just taking all the breath outta me, huh?"

"Uh, Doc, is he okay?"

The doctor chuckles quietly and nods. "He's just a little high right now. Don't take anything he says too seriously, okay?"

I laugh hysterically and start sobbing even harder, and I can't stop any of it, but I don't really want to. I just keep bawling, to the point of almost vomiting.

"Whoa, fuck! What's wrong with him?"

"Again, perfectly normal. Especially given all the shit he's been through. I'll be just a minute, Mr. Egbert."

I hear the closing of a door and my sobs subside into sniffles which end fast and I'm laughing again. "Oh, John. Johnny, booooooy. Haha, pipes, indeed. Know what I mean? Bro, I just wanna make out with you. You're just so fucking perfect. Sometimes, I just think about how perfect you are. Seriously! The only way I let Gamzee fuck me this morning is because I pretended it was you! No bullshit. But that didn't help. Now, he didn't rape me. Fuck no he didn't. I love that giant piece of asshole pretty hard, broberto. But it hurt a lot, and I didn't really wanna do it because he'll end up mad at me again, but I figured that he could be happy with me now, ya know? Nah, you don't. You're a virgin. You don't know anything about what I'm talking about."

He plays with his fingers awkwardly and kicks his feet on the tile. Fuck, let me explain some more!

"Ya see," I continue on, slurring here and there. "Love is awful. And I seem to fall in love with anyone who's ever nice to me. Which is very few people. Except Nepeta. I don't do in love with her. She's too cute. Fucking adorable little bitch. Anyways, I don't normally think of my loves in sexual ways. But Gamzee . . . God. He's hot as hell, right? Tall, broken inside, grogeous hairs, fuckin eyeliner – like hoooooo damn. Got a big dick, too. Hahahaha. He was my first kiss and my first fuck. Only had sex twice. Kissed a few times, though. I fucked him topside when he was with Tavros, so he hated me a lot for that. So do I. But irregardless. You. You with the pretty eyes. I wouldn't mind you violating me a bit, eh? You're fucking adorable. You're like the cuteness of Gary Coleman, may he rest in peace, with the sex of Bill Cosby. Shit. Wait. No. You're white. Hahahahahaha!"

"Karkat, maybe you should stop talking?"

I laugh some more and nod in agreement. Yeah, he gets my point. Cute little fucker. I close my eyes and hum a nameless tune, happier than I've ever been in my whole life. John walks over and holds my hand gently. Man, we're getting married already? I'm okay with this.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, squeezing my hand in his cold one.

"Why? I'm okay with marrying you. You'll be a good husband."

"Shh. No, I'm sorry because I had no idea you were so fucked up. I wish you would've told me sooner. I wish I could've helped earlier."

"Oh, my life isn't so bad. Gamzee has the shittiest life ever. But you have the best life ever. So you're a good husbandee."

"Fuck, stop doing that. But my life has been pretty awesome. There were some not fun parts, but they helped me become who I am. And Dad, though embarrassing sometimes, is pretty rad. And you didn't get to have a dad who cared. And that makes me sad. I think I always knew there was something off about you. I tend to adore lost souls. That's why I wanted so desperately to be your friend. But you always seemed like you hated me. That hurt. But I didn't take it too seriously. I figured you needed a punching bag."

"Hey, John?"

"Yeah?"

I look over at him with a frown and tears in my eyes. So emotional. "I never hated you. Even when I said I did. A lot. I just was so jealous of you. Your life is wonderful. Mine is balls. And you have all these friends who love you and care about you, and I don't. So . . . Yeah. I don't and never did hate you."

"I know, Karkat. I know. But thanks for telling me."

"Can I go to sleep now?"

He smiles so sweetly that I start crying again, making him hold my hand tighter while telling me words of comfort that soothe me to the core. "Of course. Go to sleep. You've earned it."

That's enough for me.

I don't know how long I'm out, but it's dark and cold when I wake up and I can't help but feel a little dead inside when I find that I'm alone. I don't feel too stoned anymore, and my arms throb with my heartbeat, but it's nothing like before. They're stitched and sutured tight and I cringe at the sight and also smile because I probably would've died without John's help. Good boy. Best friend.

Best friend . . . I wonder what happened to Gamzee? Of course I still care about him. How could I not? Oh, shit. I hope he doesn't get arrested. I faintly remember something about rape investigation. And that's so wrong on so many levels. Assholes didn't even let me explain. It was my fault, too. Because I'm stupid. So stupid.

The beeps of a machine next to me let me know that my heart rate is rising, because I apparently can't tell them that myself. But I guess I was rougher than I thought. Oh, well. Wait. Underweight? Since when? I'm fat. Everyone knows that. I'm Karfat Vantass, for God's sake. I lift my patient gown a bit and find that I'm still as chubby as ever. They're some shitty doctors, I swear.

I sigh lightly and turn my head to the side, noticing with a small amount of interest that there's a card taped to the wall next to me. Squinting to try to decipher the writing in the darkness, I see it's from John and Dad Egbert.

"Get well soon, Karkat. We miss you. Hang in there. We'll figure something out when you get out. Don't ever doubt yourself or your worth. You're perfect just as you are, and if people can't see that, well . . . They're dicks who don't deserve to be in the same universe as you. Love ya, buddy. John and Dad."

I smile and cry softly. Those assholes, making me feel sentimental bonds and shit. Oh, there are more. One from Terezi with notes from Dave, one from Kanaya and Rose, one from Nepeta, one from John's friend Jade, but . . . None from Gamzee . . .

Why am I even surprised by that? Why does it bother me? And why is the only thing I can ever think these days why? That's so irritating. I just want an answer, even if it'll upset me. Maybe even especially then, since I like being unhappy so much. Whiny dick.

I wake up again to bright sunlight peeking through thick blinds, and a John Egbert in my face. I'm startled at first, but I've learned to find comfort in his presence in the short amount of time I've been friendly with him. I smile slightly and shake my head, faintly remembering my flush-inducing comments toward him, and hide my face in my hands in show of being ashamed. "Sorry," I murmur, voice muffled through warm, sweaty hands.

He laughs, a smooth and pretty noise, and moves my hands from my eyes to reveal his kind smile. "Don't worry about it, okay?" he says quietly, slightly amused. "I don't blame you; I'm too much man to handle sometimes."

"Handle, huh?"

I raise my eyebrows and grin at his reddening face and avoidance of my stare. It's kind of cute, really, the idea of me and him, him and me. Where there were once insults, there are now fun teases and, lord, inside jokes. Funny how fast things can change.

"Hey, John?"

He looks up at me with curiosity and caution, interested but afraid, and asks, "Yes, Karkat?"

I stop to think about my next words carefully, not sure of how to say what I want, worried about the consequences of them. But now's not the time to be a bitch. Man up, balls out, let's go. "The shit I said . . . They weren't exactly lies."

There's a change in the air as he relaxes some and gives me another soft smile. "Oh, yeah? Well, I'm glad you don't hate me."

"That's not the only part; don't play dumb. You don't care about my not-exactly-heterosxual-ness?"

"Why would I?" he snorts, sitting back some in a rounded plastic chair the color of his eyes. "It's not my place to judge even if I was somehow offended by something that's none of my damn business."

I laugh a tiny bit and stare up at the ceiling to collect myself again. Oh, boy, am I not prepared for this. "You're a pretty good guy, Egbert. And . . . I like you a lot."

"Hm . . . I like you a lot, too."

My heart falters and my stomach flutters. God. Yes. Thank you, baby Jesus up in the clouds. I look back down at him and his face is the perfect picture of seriousness but I find myself completely at ease and not at all nervous with just a small glance at him. I clear my throat and ask, "Oh, you do, hm?"

"Duh. Or I wouldn't be here, retard. I've always been pretty intrigued by you, wondering why you were so angry and against being friendly. I knew there was more to you than angry dwarf. You have substance."

"Tch. Too much of the stuff, if you ask me."

"Enough of that 'I'm fat' bullshit. We've only begun to be friends and you've spewed that out so many times. You do know you're only ninety pounds, right?"

What? No, that's bee-ess. I'm, like, one-thirty-something. Have been for forever, no matter how much I don't eat or work out. I only get heavier. "Dude, if you're gonna lie to me, at least be a little more realistic."

He stands from his seat and lets out a heavy puff of air, coming over to me and placing his hands on both sides of my face to force me to look at him. "Karkat," he start sternly, making me shiver a little, "when was the last time you really ate anything?"

Oh. Shit. Hm. I can't really remember. I have an apple here and there, maybe a can of tuna; nothing major or regular. But there's still no way I'm so skinny. I eye him intensely, trying to figure him out, yet knowing he has nothing but good intentions. He doesn't play mind games like a certain schizophrenic giant. "Good point. Still, I think you're exaggerating a little."

"I can see all of your ribs and every notch of your spine. You wear layers upon layers of heavy, baggy clothes. You never show any part of your skin but your face, and that's pretty hollowed out. I think you have body dysmorphia. And maybe even an eating disorder."

"Let's not get off track here. So I like you and you like me. Where's that going?"

He sighs roughly in frustration at my lack of cooperation, but that's not what I wanted to talk about and it's not something I ever want to talk about. Because it's bullshit. And a waste of my time. He leans over me and glares down with a blackness in his eyes that makes my blood freeze in my veins. "I'm not fucking around. You need help. I'll let this pass once, but if it's brought up again . . . Don't expect me to just ignore it. Anyway, it'll go where it goes. Get some rest. I'll see you later."

Bucky goes to leave me be, but I just can't let him go. I grab his shirt and he turns back swiftly and pulls his shirt back down with pink dusting his fair cheeks. And of course I want to smile at the sight, but I'm in serious mode and I just want to pummel him and then make out with his adorable face. Guess that's what hands are for . . .

"John, don't leave yet," I whisper, wanting to get my point across, but not wanting to really say anything. Just _know_ what I mean, dammit. "Please?"

His rigid expressions melt easily at my words and he rolls his eyes and wraps his arms around me as best as he can. "Just chill out, buddy. I'm just going to school. I'll come by when that's done. Be good."

With a pat to my head and a sly wink, he's off and I'm hopelessly and utterly alone again. And I guess that's good because just that tiny show of affection gave me some serious wood and that's just way too embarrassing and kinda really fucked up to deal with right now. Oh, Karkat. You'll fall for anyone, won't you?


	7. Drei Ein Hoch auf süße Rache

When I finally get out of the hospital, I'm left with multiple cards from my friends and a bittersweet taste in my mouth: not a single card was from Gamzee. And then I begin to worry, because maybe something terrible happened to him, disabling him from writing anything to me or even visiting me. John and his friends came by all the time, Terezi showed up with treats and sweet words, Nepeta (and Equius) bounded in excitedly a few times with an unnerving amount of happiness, and hell, even Kanaya showed up sans Rose to apologize for not spending enough time with me. I actually reconnected with my older friends and made some new ones, like Jade and the aforementioned Rose. Word got around about my freakish situation and I got nice calls from Sollux and strained words of sympathy from Aradia. The last thing she told me was, "I know about what happened with you and the clown."

I'd never felt so cold before then, but she didn't seem mad at me even though Tavros is her best friend. She seemed more sad than anything. And I still don't know what to make of it, and I cease my over-thinking as I pull into my driveway, taking note that Gamzee's car is here as well, and that makes me die a little inside. So I guess he was just ignoring me. Again.

Walking into my house, I smell the familiar artificial sweetness of Faygo and hear what I can only describe as a symphony of honks. So he _is_ home. Awesome. With a sigh and a heavy heart, I dwell further within my prison that has lost all of its comforts and make my way to his room. The door is shut and has frowny faces all over it in purple and green chalk. I knock on it anyway and the honks immediately stop, the air around me feeling thick with tension and anxiety. I hear him get off his bed and pull the blinds apart with his fingers to peek outside, mumbling words I can't understand and probably don't want to by the tone of his voice.

He walks to the door with heavy stomps and I hear click after click after click of locks as he reluctantly makes the doorway approachable. My heart breaks a little at seeing him, every good and bad memory I've shared with him rushing back and forth in the tidal wave of my mind. He looks like he used to, his weight decreasing rapidly since I last saw him. His cheeks are sunken in, his skin is pale and lifeless, his wavy hair is deflated and dull, and his normally bright eyes are apathetic and bloodshot and swollen to high hell. And all I want to do is apologize for being away from him for so long, but I know that that's not right. I shouldn't feel guilty for being so fucked up . . . Should I? Maybe I should.

"Oh, God, Gamzee. I'm so sorry."

Well . . . Shit.

He looks away for a moment like he's thinking of what to say or do, careful and gentle, and then looks back with the same pitiful look of gaunt apathy. "Don't be sorry for anything you ever do," he mutters hoarsely, monotonously, voice barely above a raspy whisper, like he physically can't speak any other way. I wonder if he's left the house at all, if he's talked at all, if he's done much of anything other than drown in soda and bicycle horns since I've been gone. He tries to smile, but it comes off all wrong and crooked and broken and fake. I want to hold his face in my hands and then punch him in the balls. But I do neither. I just stand there and stare blankly.

"I don't know what to say," I whisper, eyes glued to his own, looking but not seeing anything in particular.

"I don't know what to do," he replies, eyes drooping considerably like he's about to pass out. Even his lips are pale, almost white, and chapped like he'd been walking through a desert all year and then poured salt all over them. Somehow, his lip jewelry looks less shiny. God, he's a mess.

I change my view from his almost dead body to the floor and rock from side to side a little, unable to make real conversation, and equally unable to remain still. But he stays completely idle, not even clanking his jewelry together as is his nervous quirk. Maybe he isn't as anxious as I thought? Maybe it's just me. Maybe-

"It's hard to see you," he says as quiet and cracked as before. "You're my walking, talking, living mistakes. I've ruined you, haven't I? I fucking know I did. You deserve so much more than what either of us gave you credit for. I'm so motherfucking sorry, babe. I just . . . I don't know why I keep doin' this. Your beauty . . . I stole it right from under you. I took advantage. And I know I did. And I do. And you let me, and it drives me fucking crazy. I don't want you to do that. Hate me. You have more right than anyone to hate me. So hate me. Please. Karkat, I don't know how much longer I can take those red eyes boring into my soul and seeing only selfishness and abandonment. Fucking get rid of me. Make me suffer. _Hate me_."

His tone only changes when he emphasizes his words, otherwise it's completely even and all of his melodic charisma bleeds from his voice like a hung deer. I have no idea what to say to him in response. I have no idea what to think of anything. "I don't know" is my new mantra and it's endless and consistent and the constant, just like Gamzee used to be. And I keep breaking and breaking and breaking; I don't even know what I am anymore. Shards of me are spread around like candy from my piñata body, and every word is like a dead-on hit with a bat.

"I do. I fucking hate you. I hate what you've done to me."

Shit, no, stop.

But I don't. I can't. I roll up my sleeves and show him my arms, some of the stitches still in from the damage I'd done to myself. I start crying when I see them, but press on, harder and harder. "Look what you've done to me! Look! I bleed and cry and scream and hurt and _die_ for you and still I get nothing in return! You're a fucking asshole, and I hate you! I hate you so much, and I just want you to suffer and die! I want you to hurt like I hurt. I want to hurt you, I want to make you pay."

He remains where he was, his expression the same as well, not moving even when I get in his face, not when I hit him repeatedly, not even when I fall against him and sob on his chest. With a heavy sigh, he simply wraps an arm around my shoulders and rests the side of his head against mine.

"Maybe we should quit this thing, huh?"

Gripping him tighter, I allow myself to sob harder, coughing and gagging, and I shake my head over and over in protests. "No! No, no, no. No . . . I can't leave you alone. You need me. I-I need you . . ."

He wraps his other arm around me and holds me closer to him, chuckling sadly in my ear. I feel a small tickle and realize he's crying, too. And I feel bad for that and the usual embarrassment creeps into my throat and attempts to stop my anti-stereotype of hysterical bawling, but it's useless. I'm too far gone. "You don't need me, bro. You need to get as far away from me as possible until I can get my shit together."

"No, no, no, no, no!"

"Shhhhhhhhh. It's okay. Shhhh, shhh, shh. I'll give you this place and everything in it. You can always call me if you need anything. I will always be here for you. I love you. I'll always love you. Until I die, Karkles. Until I die and even after that."

I sit alone, eyes burning and head throbbing, but unable to cry anymore. I'm certain I've used up all my tears this year. He refused to take anything out of here, aside from his clothes and bathroom accessories. He even left his bed. And I haven't left it since he got in his car and drove away. I don't want to do anything else but sit here and pretend he's going to come back. Which is just really super jacked to shit because the rational part of me tells me that I should be glad because I'm free and he's out of my life. But I have to see him at school. It's only one class, though. But still. God, it hurts. And I want to cry more, but I can't even when I try my hardest.

Why the fuck do I still love him?

Weeks turn to months and I pretend I'm fine when I'm around other people because I'm sick of them asking what's wrong with me. I try to avoid looking at him, but he smiles sadly every time he notices me. And it makes me want to cry. I finally figured out what bugged him on day one: he has every single class with Tavros. Even the one that I'm in with him. And I feel awful because he has to see both of us at once, and I know that must hurt. Again, rationality says "Serves him right," but I feel guilty if I start thinking about him in a negative way. John keeps my mind otherwise occupied, and that makes it easier to forget because it keeps me good and distracted. His friends are good company, and I get to see Terezi and Kanaya all the time. That makes me incredibly happy. Kanaya was always a good friend. She never hurts me, and she listens to me and gives me advice. I still feel tiny sparks of romantic love for Terezi sometimes, but my heart remembers that it can't take it and is quick to extinguish the flames that try to rise. Around New Years, Sollux and Aradia moved back and he had his usual party. I went only for him and we talked the entire night. I didn't realize how much I missed his company. He's a good guy, and I love finding anything to argue with him about. He's quick-witted and creative in his comebacks. He'd moved back because he finished his schooling in a matter of months and impressed the fuck out of everyone and everything, it seems. I dialed down my pride a bit and teased him lightly, but jeez is this kid the brains of the lot. Aradia enrolled at my school again and it was nice to see Tavros finally have someone to talk to. The three of us had a nice talk about everything, Tavros and I finally brave enough to talk about it. It ended well, and not a single bad word was said about Gamzee, which I thought odd, but oh well. His copper eyes got a little glossy when he remembered that this was the same time and place last year that he started dating Gamzee, but we were abnormally emotionless the rest of the time.

Things are starting to pick up for me. I do better in school, I do better with myself, I do better with my friends, and therapy isn't as bad as I thought it'd be. My therapist is awesome and doesn't judge me or make me feel like a bug under a magnifying glass. He listens and is very considerate and helps me get to the root of my problems. My friends help a lot, too. And I could never thank them enough. Although, John helps me the most. I'm glad he cares so much. That's what I needed. It's what I need. Always.

Around Valentine's Day, I decide that I'll go for it. Why not, right? He seems to reciprocate my feelings, now that I know that my feelings are real and aren't crazy-talk. The school has little candy grams for the holiday and I take it upon myself to send him one, making sure it's not anonymous. They get delivered after lunch, and he gets his while sitting next to me in fifth hour. He actually gets two of them. The first one he looks at and smiles stupidly, then he looks at the second one and his face turns red and his eyes flash to me momentarily before he pretends to do agonizingly hard work. I can't tell if that's good or bad, but I just carry on with my own work and wait for him to pipe up about it.

By seventh hour, I'm freaking out a little bit. He hasn't said anything and avoids my face, his own turning red every time he catches me looking. I grab Kanaya away from Rose to get her advice on the subject after the ending bell rings and she listens to everything I have to say and gives me a weird look.

"What? What? WHAT?"

"Oh, honey. You don't know about-"

"Karkat, hey!"

I turn around and feel relief and horrible anxiety bubble inside me simultaneously and end up waving like an idiot to John as he speedwalks toward me. I look back to Kanaya with wide eyes and mouth, "What the fuck do I do?"

She mouths, "I'm so sorry, darling," and shuffles back over to Rose. The blonde girl says something to her that I can't hear, Kanaya replies, and all I hear is, "Oh, fuck, really?"

I stare at them curiously until John pokes my shoulder and I return my attention to him. My heart beats hard and I'm internally freaking out. As he opens his mouth to speak, I hear a girl's voice yelling his name and immediately, I want to kill myself. I know this bitch. This bitch . . . God, fuck this bitch.

Vriska runs over to him and he glances at me with a worried expression and I realize why he's practically shitting his pants when the girl wraps her arms around his neck and kisses his lips roughly.

"OH, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" I yell and turn on my heel to leave, but John grabs me and I growl at his touch and bite his hand like a police dog.

"Ow, Jesus! Karkat, what the hell?"

I spit on the floor, trying to get the taste out of my mouth, and glare up at him, avoiding looking at that putrid skank as much as I can. I really want to hit her. I want to grab her by the back of her head and knee her in the face. But I stay put and growl out, "What? What the fuck do you want?"

He holds his hand to his chest and looks down at me in shock and fear and wonder. But he's not mad. And that makes me want to hit him, too. Fucking asshole. "Karkat, I just wanted to talk to you about the-"

"Fuck it, I don't care, you're a cockbite and a douche and a liar and a motherfucking traitor. Fuck you very much, goodbye!"

"I never said I even liked you like that! I didn't even know someone could like _me _that much! I've been dating her for a while now; you should pay attention to the shit around you some time."

"AAARRGGH! SHUT THE FUCK UP! I WILL CUT THIS BITCH, I SWEAR TO GOD!"

Kanaya and Rose grab me and drag me away way too easily for how much I struggle against them. I keep yelling insult after insult to that buck-toothed sonofabitch and flip off that whore beside him who just smiles and waves daintily. Fucking bitch!

The ladies calm me down considerably after taking me home. They really do help me, but I'm so sick of everything again that I just want to puke up my emotions and get on with life. I hadn't curled up on Gamzee's bed in months, but suddenly, I've reverted into a blubbering baby again and lie awake in it after they leave. It still smells like him. A couple of tears manage to escape my eyes, but I black out quickly after clinging to his pillow and wishing desperately for it to be him. No more crying. We're done with that. No one is worth it.

Not a single fucking person.

I go about business as usual. Get up, get myself together, go to school, do well, talk to friends, go home, read about everything, go to sleep, repeat. I go out if people invite me, and have fun when I do, but I don't really feel like doing much of anything. Therapy has gotten more interesting and it's good to vent, but it's a bit tedious at this point because it's nothing new. It's gotten to the point where we just dick around and suggest movies, shows, games, and books to each other. It's fun in a weird way. I tell Slick that I have a dance coming up, but I'm not sure if I want to go or not. He says that it would do me some good to get more socialized and get rid of my caring for what other people think of me. I tell him he's probably right and that the dance is in two hours, so I should probably get ready for it.

I never thought that St. Patrick's Day was something high schools should recognize, much less create events for. Why? Well, it's all about alcohol, as far as I've seen. Teenagers like getting drunk (for the most part). There are a lot of trouble makers at my school. I'm friendly with most of them. I'm sure I'll end up shitfaced before the dance ends. I manage to find a green pimp suit on clearance and get my shit together. Complete with a cane and a feathered hat, I'm ready to rock this bitch and not remember a damn thing about it.

I make sure my friends are going and prepare for the worst. Or the best, depending on how you look at it. Dave lets me know he's well stocked with bottles of Frïs and he plans on spiking every beverage with it like there's no tomorrow. And God, am I ready for this.

I meet up with Dave, Terezi, Jade, Rose, and Kanaya in the parking lot and we head to the gym together, Dave and I in suits made for the pimpiest of pimps, the girls in an assortment of dresses: Terezi in the least revealing one, Kanaya in the most revealing one. And wow. She's got great assets. I catch myself staring every so often and she raises an eyebrow every time she sees me lurking on her but doesn't say anything to save me the embarrassment. Rose makes a short comment about me being a creeper and everyone laughs at my expense. But that's okay. I like it, this friendly shit people are made to do.

We all get compliments on our attire, especially Dave and Kanaya. They're a lot more popular than I thought they were. People are just surprised I'm here, known for being the world's angriest midget from hell. But it's better to be surrounded by distractions than to be by myself, thinking too much about everything that doesn't even matter. Sure enough, the drinks are spiked so much that one could get drunk just by looking at them. But it's not really noticeable in the taste, which I love. I can't wait to see how this will unfold.

Mr. English and Mr. Strider are the chaperones, but they're pretty caught up in themselves to pay attention to us. Every few minutes, Mr. Strider grabs Mr. English's ass, much to the latter's embarrassment and frustration. But he isn't too mad, I guess, or the former would probably stop. Or not. What do I know? My romantic knowledge is based on bullshit romcoms in which none of that shit will ever happen in real life. Not to me, at least.

It's well into the party before I'm trashed and of course that's when I notice John walk in, Vriska on his arm like the world's sluttiest parrot. I try to ignore them both, but my eyes keep crawling back to them, like I want them to see me and start some shit. John looks so sad . . . Good. Motherfucker deserves to be miserable, leading me on and shit. Bastard. The tall girl tries to get him to dance with her, but he shakes his head slowly and tells her to go on without him, sitting down at a table by himself like a loser. She stomps her foot once and gives him the hand, bounding into the crowd to flaunt her stuff.

And . . . I feel kind of bad for him. So I walk on over and stand next to him awkwardly before he realizes I'm there and jumps slightly at my appearance. He looks me up and down and smiles a little before catching himself and looking away like I didn't mean to stand there. Bitch, I'm drunk. Of course I mean to be there.

"Hey, Egbert," I say, glad my voice isn't slurring like a retard.

He flinches again and turns to me slowly, looking up at me from his uncomfortable seat. "Uh, hi," he replies stiffly, rolling his shoulders some to try to relax.

"What's up? Been a little while. How's your whor—girlfriend? How come she's not with you?"

He looks down and shrugs a bit and shakes his head. "She's okay, I guess. Mad at me because I didn't want to be here in the first place, but I'm trying to please her and she's just . . ."

"A huge bitch?"

He laughs shortly, but covers his mouth with his hands and waves it off. "No, no. Uh, just . . . I don't know. Sensitive?"

It's my turn to laugh now, but I let it out obnoxiously and slap the back of his chair a couple of times, doubled over in pain because I find that ridiculous. "Sensitive? Her? No, she's just a huge bitch, dude. She made out with Tavros just to get Gamzee back for not tripping over her the first day of school. Huuuuuge biiiiiiitch."

He raises both of his eyebrows and looks out into the crowd of grinding bodies in intense thought. "Wow," he breathes after a few minutes. "That's . . . Unnecessarily mean."

"Bitch. Huge. Huge bitch."

"Hm."

"Who's a huge bitch now?"

I turn my head to the left and see Vriska walking toward us with a cup in her hand. Yeah, she's hot, but I will never know how people get past that awful personality. I glare and wonder how she escaped the dancing mob without my notice, but remain silent and turn up my head in disgust. She walks around to John, looks at me mischievously, and sits on his lap with a squeak from him.

"Hey, baby," she purrs into John's ear, biting it a little. "Ya miss me?"

He stutters a bit, trying to find words, but it's hard to think when all the blood is in your dick. Trust me, I know.

I make a grossed-out noise in the back of my throat and that makes her be even more trampy. She runs her hand down his chest and kisses his neck, hand traveling lower and lower until I lose my shit. That's it. Can't do it.

I pull her off of him and shove her onto the floor. I hear John yell my name behind me, but I don't give a fuck. This bitch has had it coming for a while now.

"Come on, ho!" I yell, throwing my hat and cane off to the side and motioning her to bring it on. "Let's go! I'm tired of your bullshit. All you do is fuck everything up for me and my friends, and I ain't appreciating it at all. So let's do this, ya wretched harlot. Kick my ass if you can!"

She gets up off the floor and flips her hair out of her eyes with a mad grin. She think she can win. And I want her to fight hard. With a cackle, she says, "Alright, fine, midget. Let's fucking go. I'll kick your ass harder than Gamzee ever fucked it, fag."

Adrenaline pumping, I block her fist as she rushes to hit me in the face, countering with an uppercut to her stomach instead. She wheezes, holding her gut momentarily before sending a right hook to my face. Damn, she hits hard. Or I'm more drunk than I thought. I spit my blood out and smile like I'm absolutely bonkers (which I sort of am), and headbutt her in the chin, making her face go down abruptly, forehead colliding with the top of my skull. She stumbles back and I take the opportunity to punch her in the mouth, first with my right hand, and then with my left. She grabs my arms and kicks me in the hip, narrowly missing my crotch. As much as her heel hurt, I sigh in relief that she missed my bread and butter. I kick her back in the ovaries and punch her in the head as she holds her abdomen in pain.

It suddenly dawns on me that everyone is watching, cheering, screaming, name-calling. Everyone except the chaperones, that is. God knows where they went, but thank goodness for gay boners. I'm taken by surprise when she kicks my ankle and my back hits the floor, knocking the wind out of me. She gets on top of me and punches me repeatedly in the face. I manage to get my legs free and kick her hard in the gut, getting her off of me successfully. I go to punch her again, but Aradia pushes me back and punches Vriska right in the eye, sending the taller girl to the floor with a loud thud. Aradia laughs and gets on top of her, hitting her over and over again in the eyes. She grabs onto the bitch's arms and pulls her up, putting her arms behind her back and holding her in place.

"Tavros, take a shot!" the morbid girl yells cheerily.

I laugh hysterically as Tavros walks up to her, grabs her by the dress, and headbutts her hard in the face like a bull, earning a crack and a grunt in response.

"Don't you ever try to touch me or ruin my relationships ever again, you dumb fucking cunt!" he screams triumphantly, and Aradia lets Vriska go with a shove and the latter slumps to the floor in a splatter of blood and tears.

For the first time ever, everyone is in agreement about something and we all cheer and dance and drink and all is well.

Well, except John. He's kinda just sitting there in disbelief. And for the first time ever, he looks at me with anger in his eyes. For the first time ever, he's pissed off at me.

For the first time ever, I don't give a shit. For the first time ever, I'm happy just being. Fuck the people that want to dampen my mood. I am free. I am euphoric. I am a winner.

I am in a shit-ton of trouble.

* * *

**AN: I LOVED writing that end part there. I was so pissed off that I wanted to fight and yeah. Haha. But I don't hate Vriska. I love all the characters. I especially adore her because she's just so mean. And I love her and John together. But . . . She's had this coming for a while now. And just to show you non-believers out there that you should never give up reading a story until it's completed because you don't know how it'll turn out.**

**. . .**

**I sink ships so hard. I'm so sorry.**

**I love you. ;n;**


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